Page 3 of Misadventures With My Fake Fiancé

Jane smiled dreamily and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. “I think so. That's a lot of lube you've got there.” Picking up the scanner, she ran it past the bar code on the side.

“Well, you know, Brad and I are trying to have kids.”

I stopped tidying up charge slips and looked at Rhonda. Petite, brunette, perky. I could tell there was a story here. A gallon of lube always came with a story, right?

Jane nodded. “Right. How's that going?”

“It's not happening as fast as I'd like. We've been trying for months without success.”

“I've heard day twelve is a good day to have sex,” Jane replied in a sympathetic tone. “But I'm not sure why you'd need that much lube.”

I had no idea what day twelve meant, but when it was time to try to get a bun into my oven, I figured I'd find out. Or I'd get the translation from Jane.

“Did that work for you?” Rhonda asked, all eager for tips to success. “Day twelve?” She looked to me but I just shrugged my shoulders. I had no idea. I thought every day was a good day to practice.

Sure, I wanted kids. But I wanted them with a man after marriage. Call me traditional. Since I didn't have a man, the rest wasn't going to happen. Fortunately, my so-called biological clock wasn't keeping me up at night. Yet.

Jane chuckled. “Bobby was what you'd call a surprise.” She had two sons, Zach, seven and Bobby, four, with her husband—Goldie's son—who'd died a few years ago of a heart attack, orso I'd heard. I knew Jane outside of Goldilocks because I’d been Zach's first grade teacher.

It was Rhonda's turn to nod. “Well, we've been doing it day ten, day eleven, day twelve...you get the idea.” She giggled like a teenager. “Brad says that sperm can live in the intestinal tract for up to five days, but just to be sure we're doing it every day. So, I need lots of lube.”

My brain slammed on the emergency brake at Rhonda's words. Maybe I was new to the whole sex store thing, but I thought I'd learned something different about how babies were made in health class. I turned to look at Jane. She stood there as if an alien had just landed in front of her. Her mouth was open but no words came out. Her eyebrows were practically in her hairline. She cleared her throat. “Um, what did you say?”

Rhonda giggled again, looked left and right to make sure no one was listening. “Even though sperm can live for five days?—”

Jane held up her hand to stop her. “Where?”

Rhonda lifted her shoulders up so they touched her ears, then back down. “The intestinal tract. Brad says even though that's true, we still need to have sex every day. Just to make sure.”

I couldn't tell if Rhonda was a complete idiot or her husband was a total jerk. Or both. I think Jane was debating the same thing. No wonder she needed all that lube.

With a swirl of perfume and big hair, Goldie joined us. I saw the poor kid she'd lectured dash out the door as if he was scarred for life by Goldie's 'talk.'

“Hello, Rhonda. How's your mother?”

“Hi, Miss Goldie. She's just fine. Plans on entering her Sweet Peas in the festival this year. I like your earrings,” Rhonda replied, switching topics. The Sweet Pea festival wasn't until early August, but those diehard growers who entered the annualflower contest already had seeds in the ground and sprouts climbing up chicken wire.

Goldie preened and touched her gold hoops. “What's new with you?”

“Um, Goldie.” Jane swallowed. “I think Rhonda may need your help.” She waved her finger toward Rhonda. I could see she was trying very hard not to laugh. She coughed and then cleared her throat. “Well...it seems that Rhonda's having a tough time getting pregnant.”

Goldie patted Rhonda on the arm. “Just keep trying, dear. Knowing Brad and how he fancies you, it's only a matter of time.”

Jane pinched her lips closed, tried to breathe through her nose and keep a serious expression, but a weird snort came out. Even I knew it wasn't good to laugh at the customers.

“She's having a tough time getting pregnant because—” I started, taking over the conversation. It was no use. I couldn't keep a straight face either. Trying to hold it together, I tilted my head down and rubbed my forehead as I continued. “Perhaps Rhonda, um...you can tell Goldie.”

Rhonda picked up the container of lube and hugged it close, like the baby she longed to have. “All of it?” she asked me and Jane. We nodded together like synchronized bobble dolls. Jane had her hand over her mouth. I bit the inside of my cheek.

“All right.” Rhonda turned to Goldie. “I came in to get more lube. We ran out last night. Brad says that even though sperm can live in the intestinal tract for over five days, we should still have sex every day to ensure we can make a baby, but it's not working.”

Goldie's mouth fell open, her head slowly shaking from left to right, her eyes falling closed for a moment. She whispered something to herself. I wasn't a lip reader, although I took a guess she said something between 'holy Mother of God' and'holy shit.' Goldie placed her hand gently on Rhonda's shoulder. “Ladies, Rhonda and I are going to have a little talk in the back. We'll be out in a minute.”

Jane and I nodded again until the door to the storeroom closed behind them. Then we burst out laughing. So hard, in fact, that tears rolled down my face. I hadn't heard anything so funny, so absolutely ridiculous in a long time. That included Jane's story about how Bobby got his arm stuck in a patio umbrella stand. I only believed that one when I saw the photo.

It took a few minutes and we finally pulled ourselves together. In fact, I was still wiping my eyes with a tissue when Rhonda came storming out of the back room, dropped the drum-sized container of lube on the glass counter so hard the basket of free condoms jumped up in the air. She stormed out the front door with an evil gleam in her eyes.

Goldie approached the counter, leaned one arm on it and watched the door swing closed. “Think I should call the police and warn Brad? Come Tuesday, Brad will either be dead or she'll be pregnant, mark my words.”

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