Page 8 of Brock
I continue waddling towards my table. “I’m fine,” I tell her. “Just pregnant.”
“I can see that.” She puts a hand on my shoulder and leans forward so her lips are almost touching my ear. “It’s just, you seem to have tucked your dress into your panties.”
I freeze.
She does her best to block the view from the other customers. I don’t look around, but I can see people talking behind their hands. Whispering. Giggling. It’s like being back in high school.
“Thank you,” I say when everything is back as it should be. “And would you mind checking my shoe for any toilet paper? I’d do it myself, but I haven’t seen my feet in weeks.”
She smiles. Her eyes flick to the floor. Twenty minutes ago I thought she was just another sassy bitch with her eyes on my man. But now she’s really looking after me. I try not to be cynical. She’s probably not doing it solely for a big tip. She’s doing it because we’re both women. Sisters. Fighting the fight.
“All good,” she says, nudging a man behind her with her hip so he tucks his chair in as I pass. “Enjoy the rest of your meal.”
Brock gets up and pulls the chair out as I sit down. It feels good to take the weight off my feet.
“Are you okay?” he says, worried. “I knew we should have stayed at home. I could have rustled us up something delicious. You know I have that new cookbook.”
“Hush,” I say, squeezing his hand. It’s cute how concerned he is for my well-being. “It’s our anniversary. You can cook for me any night of the week. But, tonight I wanted to come out and show off my man.” I lean forward so nobody can hear. “And boy do you look sexy in that tuxedo.”
“And you look sexy with that big bump.”
“I don’t feel sexy.” I adjust my ever-expanding ass in the seat. “I feel like a whale.”
“A big sexy whale.”
“Not helping, Brock.”
He picks up a bottle of sparkling water and pours some into a champagne flute. Changing the subject like a pure master. “Would the lady like a drink?”
“Yes,” I take the glass and sip the cool, fizzy liquid. I’ve only just been to the restroom, but already I need to go back. It’s like the baby is trying to play soccer with my bladder. “But, first, before the food gets here, I really want to say a few things.” The tears start to well up in my eyes the moment I start talking. These hormones are a total trip. “I know you hate all this mushy stuff, so I’m just gonna get straight to the point, and you’re gonna have to listen to me because I’m pregnant and because it’s our anniversary and because I’m your wife and you love me and did I mention I’m pregnant?”
“No,” he smiles. “It’s the first I’m hearing of it.”
The tears are flowing down my cheeks like Niagara Falls. I can’t help but laugh out loud at Brock’s feeble joke. Except, instead of a laugh, it’s more like the bark of a dog. People turn and look at us like I’ve just tried farting the Star Spangled Banner with my panties around my ankles and my bumhole covered in talcum powder.
Brock reaches over and wipes some of the tears from my face with his huge thumb. He takes my hand and kisses it gently.
“This year,” I stutter. “It’s been the best fucking year of my life and I’m so lucky to have found you and I don’t know what I’d be doing without you in my life, but I know it wouldn’t be as good and every morning I wake up knowing how lucky I am to have you as my husband and I can’t wait to have this baby and start a family with you, Brock. I fucking love you so fucking much.”
This time, I’m the one who has to lean over and wipe the tear fromhisface. “I know,” he says. “I feel the same fucking way, Layla. You complete me. I love you more and more with each passing day. And this little baby is going to be the luckiest damn baby in the whole fucking world. Because he’s gonna have you as his mother.”
He kneels down in front of me. We kiss. Our tongues battle against each other in full view of all the other patrons. “Come on,” Brock says. “Let’s get out of here. I wanna get you out of that dress.”
“Okay,” I say, letting him help me up out of the chair. “But make sure to leave an extra big tip.”
He winks at me and kisses me softly on the cheek. “I have a big tip for you,” he growls. “Any time you want it.”
