Page 97 of Unexpecting

I raised both my hands in alarm. “Please don’t tell me what’s okay for Luke!”

″For someone who’s had so much sex, you’re a real prude.”

″I am not, and I’m offended by that comment. I’m okay with everyone having sex, but for some people—your husband included—I just don’t want that image in my head. Especially now when it seems sex is the only thing I think about. Do you really want me to start thinking about your husband in that way?”

″Go for it,” Libby laughed. “He’d get a kick out of it. He’d feel all manly, which might bode well for…”

″Stop it,” I cried, and Libby laughed.

″Getting back to J.B. I think you should lay off the whole ‘I never, ever want to get married’ thing, you know. Just in case he’s got ideas and you’re scaring him off.”

I sighed. “I want him involved for the babies’ sake, as well as his own. I’m not looking for a husband out of this. If I was, I would have jumped at him when he asked me before. Or I would have moved to Alaska years ago. Apparently they have tons of single men there. I was thinking of suggesting that to Morgan before she met Derek.” Now it was Libby who winced. “Oh, c’mon, Lib, give him a break. He is a nice guy, and it’s not like Mom is going to start hanging out with Morgan or anything. And she really likes Derek.”

″Who? Mom or Morgan?”

″Both. Mom thinks he’s terrific. She originally wanted him for me, but figures Morgan is almost as good. I guess she never considered it might have been a little awkward with the whole mother-daughter-dating-brothers thing.”

″Definite eww.”

″I know. But Derek seems nice, and he treats Morgan like a princess, which is what she needs. And he’s already stayed over a few times. Morgan says—”

″Do not go there,” Libby instructed sternly, holding up her hand like a traffic cop, much like I did. “I beg you. You don’t want to hear about Luke, and I can’t deal with listening how Morgan might be getting it on with the brother of our soon-to-be stepfather. That’s our step-uncle or something!”

I laughed. “I know. She gave me a few too many details. But give Eric a break next time, will you, Lib? It’s not his fault our mother is a cradle-snatcher.”

It was still snowing when I got home. I saw the giant black Pathfinder in the driveway and knew J.B. was home. Even if I didn’t, J.B. called down from the kitchen as soon as I closed the door behind myself.

″Hey! Casey, c’mon up, will you?” Apparently he was not still embarrassed about the other night, if he ever was. J.B.’s probably had too many women throw themselves at him to bother counting. I had a sudden, intense wave of hatred toward any woman who was throwing herself at him, but told myself to stop.

After climbing the stairs, which leaves me out of breath these days, I could barely get in the kitchen for the plastic shopping bags scattered around. “What did you—Toys R Us?” I asked in wonderment. There musthave been six or seven bags sitting on the kitchen floor. “What did you do?”

″You got to see this stuff!” Clearly J.B. was still feeling the adrenaline of the shopping high every woman knows as he started pawing through the bags. “I know you don’t want to breast-feed, so I got all these bottles and a bottle warmer and a sterilizer, and there’s this bunch of toys called Baby Einstein and they make videos and it’s all educational—it’ll teach the babies about music and art, so I got them some of that, and this really cool musical train with these animals and these teething toys and stuffed animals and…”

I started to laugh then. “J.B., you bought so much. You don’t have to, you know. There’s time.” I glanced down at the train and the videos he’d pulled out to show me. “They won’t be using these for a bit.”

″Doesn’t matter,” J.B. shook his head. “You know, I’ve never been in that toy store. It’s awesome. The girl who was helping me showed me these bouncy seats, and they vibrate and play music so the babies can even sleep in them.” He pulled out a brightly coloured box. “I had to get three of them, so they wouldn’t get upset about having to share.”

This time I had tears in my eyes as I laughed. “I don’t believe you,” I told him softly. “All this stuff.”

″I know I probably went overboard, but I couldn’t help myself,” he said sheepishly. “Next time you can come with me. But look—look what I found.” Out of one of the bags, J.B. pulled a stack of DVDs. “That Finding Nemo you told me about, plus Cars and Ratatouille and this Dora the Explorer. There were tons of them, so I guess she’s pretty popular.”

″Pretty popular,” I echoed. My niece Madison had enough Dora memorabilia to stock her own store.

″Want to watch one tonight?” J.B. asked eagerly. “We can eat and then watch a movie?”

″Okay,” I told him. I couldn’t stop smiling.

J.B. made a quick pasta dinner for us, and then we headed to the living room to watch Finding Nemo. I’d seen it a few times with Libby’s kids, but it’s one of those movies I don’t mind seeing again. Sebastian the cat settled in his usual perch on the ugly wagon-wheel coffee table, watching J.B. with half-closed eyes.

About two-thirds into the movie, when the pelican flies into the dentist’s office and tells Nemo his father is looking for him, I had another one of the Braxton Hicks’ pains.

″Ugh!” I said aloud and held my side tightly.

″What’s wrong?” J.B. jumped to the other end of the couch so quickly that he frightened the cat, who bolted out of the room.

″Ugh, just—nothing. It’s just false labour. Nothing to worry about—hurts though.”

″Braxton Hicks,” J. B was nodding his head authoritatively.

---