Page 60 of Bad News Babe

I try imagining myself living here with West. The rolling hills with homes spaced out to allow for small yards. The lush trees just past the last of the houses. The walking path which seems to wrap around the property.

Nope, seems like an unattainable fantasy. Even so, I walk with him to a field not far from the other houses.

“We’ll put a fence around our place, so our kids won’t run off,” West explains casually as if planning for a grocery trip. “Val was always running when he was little. I hated that shit so much. So, I’ll likely get a kid just like him. Karma’s a bitch.”

“I don’t know how to raise a kid,” I blurt out, unable to help myself. “I’ve never even successfully babysat. The one time I tried, the kid ran away. The cops had to bring him home.”

“I don’t know anything about kids, either,” West says and squeezes my hand. “I played with my cousins’ kids. But I’ve never been in charge of them.”

“Then, what the hell happens when we’re stuck with one of our own?” I ask, imagining myself responsible for a child when I’ve never even had a pet.

“That’s the great thing about the homestead. We’ll have help. Sometimes, it’ll be obnoxious. However, my family will also ensure we feel safe and rested as we get used to parenthood.”

“Why the rush?”

“I need to live with you,” West says, sounding vulnerable like last night when he was worried he’d lose me. “You’re apparently very fertile. I guess we could get you on non-itchy birth control or use condoms.”

“It’s probably too late. But then again, I’m a Fontaine. My mom only had me. So, it’s possible I’m not that fertile. We could be okay.”

“Why don’t we wait to worry about that until we have to? Let’s say you’re pregnant. That’s nine months before the baby. A year before the kid can do much. Plenty of time to get ready for when it drives us crazy. Then, we’ll drop the baby off at my ma’s.”

As if summoned by his thoughts of her, a curvy blonde woman—looking like an older version of Tuesday—bounces in our direction. Okay, maybe she’s walking. However, her movements feel more animated because of her buxom boobs.

“Ma, this is Alexis,” West says as he tugs me toward her. “Alexis, this is Poppy.”

“You’re beautiful,” I blurt out before she snarks in my direction.

“Well, yes, I’m blessed with my mother’s good looks.”

West grins. “And none of your father’s.”

I sense an inside joke brewing between mother and son. Poppy sizes me up and wants so badly to talk shit. She’s clearly hurting herself by smiling warmly.

“Alexis looks like her mom, too,” West announces, really trying to connect some dots, even if he has to take the long way around to make it work.

“I heard she passed away,” Poppy says and crosses her arms. “How did that happen?”

Ready for this question, I answer immediately, “She was killed by a drunk driver on her way to cancer treatment after spending the day reading to the blind.”

West goes still, unsure if he ought to rat me out. Poppy’s blue eyes focus hard on mine. She realizes I’m full of shit and smiles approvingly.

“How tragic,” she replies and wraps an arm around my back before guiding me toward what I assume is her ranch-style house. “How did your father take the loss?”

“By finding Jesus and praying a lot.”

“Well, that works for some people. I prefer moonshine and dancing naked with West’s sexy pa. But differences are what make us special.”

I glance back at a worried West. When I grin at him, he settles down.

“Your son is so protective,” I tell her as we step onto her house’s wooden back deck. “I’m not lying about that part. He always makes sure I’m taken care of.”

“Does he make you wear a helmet when riding his motorcycle?”

West steps closer. “You don’t wear one, Ma.”

“Only because my life is over, so scrambling my brain won’t be much of a loss.”

West rolls his eyes while I explain, “When I’m your age, I hope to have the strength to stare into the abyss and laugh like you do, Poppy.”

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