Page 57 of Screwed (Dad Bod Contracting 4)
“With what?”
Imogen moves from her seat in a deep leather recliner to curl up on the couch next to Audra. “Sweetie. I’ve known you more than half our lives. You don’t have to put up a front. It’s me—it’s us.”
Audra is still opaque and shut down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I sigh. “Audra…I talked to Franco.”
She tilts her head back and sighs, rubbing her face with both hands. “I’m gonna kill him.”
“He knew that,” I say. “But yet he still talked to me about it. Which means you know he has to have a serious concern if he’s willing to risk pissing you off.”
Audra blinks, her expression still carefully blank. “Just so we’re all on the same page here—what exactly did Franco talk to you about?”
I glance at Imogen—being Audra’s best friend, it’s probably best for her to take point on this.
Imogen wraps an arm around Audra, who stiffens, goes rigid as a two-by-four. “I’ve known something was up with you for weeks, and I had a pretty good idea what it was about even before this. So don’t think you were snowing me with your ‘everything is fine’ routine. Don’t forget, I know you, bitch.”
Audra snorts. “What the actual hell are you babbling about?”
“You being infertile,” Imogen says.
Audra visibly flinches. “Fuck.” She sniffles, and her expression abruptly crumples. “Goddammit,” she whispers. “Goddamn you, Franco.”
“You can’t blame him,” I say. “He’s worried about you.”
“He shouldn’t be,” Audra snaps, but her voice is weak, quiet, and unconvincing. “I’m fine.”
Imogen outright laughs, but it’s a loving laugh of amusement at Audra’s stubborn insistence on pretending she’s fine. “Honey. Franco only came to us because when you get like this, it’s damned near impossible to get past your walls. He loves you, but men just aren’t equipped to handle shit like this. It takes a best friend to handle something like this.”
“Three best friends,” Laurel says.
Audra sniffles again. “I’m not infertile,” she says eventually. “I’m just old.”
Imogen tightens her grip on Audra’s shoulders. “You’re not old, Audra.”
“I’m almost forty-two, hon. Kinda old. And definitely too old to be thinking about having a kid.”
Imogen hesitates at this. “Audra…since I’ve known you, you’ve had one hard and fast rule for life, and that’s that you’d never have kids.”
“I know. I know.”
“So, when did that change, and how, and why haven’t we talked about it?”
Audra shrugs, dropping her eyes. “It was gradual. I mean, I also swore I’d never fall in love, and here I am, in love with Franco and his stupid sexy body, and his stupid romantic heart.” She sniffles. “I fell in love with his stupid ass, and got all soft and mushy about everything, and started thinking.”
“Oooh, thinking—that’s dangerous,” Laurel quips.
“No kidding. So, yeah. I fell in love, and got all mushy and soft-headed,” Audra says, sniffing a laugh. She reaches out and rubs Imogen’s big, round, taut belly. “And then this happened.”
Imogen rests her hand over Audra’s on her belly. “Ahhhh. I see.”
Audra nods. “So, it’s your fault.”
Imogen laughs. “Blame Jesse.”
Audra flattens her palm against Imogen’s belly, eyes going wide. “He’s kicking!”
Imogen smiles. “We actually just got the gender ultrasound the other day.” Her grin deepens, goes soft and bright and emotional. “It’s a girl.”
Everyone squeals and claps and hugs her, and then Audra lurches off the couch, shaking off all the affection.
“See? That shit right there is what makes me crazy.” She shudders. “The mushy shit—you bitches squealing and sighing and acting like goofy-ass little girls.” She stands at the picture window overlooking Imogen’s front porch.
“Quit acting like some macho alpha male,” Imogen says, rising off the couch to stand next to Audra at the window. “This is us, babe, you can be real with us.”
Audra’s shoulders shake, and her head drops. “I don’t want to want a baby. It’s stupid. I’m almost forty-fucking-two. I’d be a senior citizen by the time the kid graduates high school.”
“So?” Imogen leans against the window and faces Audra. “You’re fit as hell. You’ll be a spry old lady. And a hell of a cool mom.”
Audra can’t even respond. “I just…I want it with him. I lay awake in bed at night staring at Franco, watching him sleep, and I imagine a little baby with his face and my eyes. I can see him holding a little baby, rocking it…I see a little boy, for some reason. I don’t know why. It’s so fucking weird. It’s almost like a compulsion, like some drive deep inside me—biological and hormonal rather than emotional, or based on some logical, rational decision. I fought it and fought it for months, but eventually Franco was like, what the fuck is wrong with you, because I kept acting weird, especially after sex. I was…we were super careful, you know? Like, I’ve been on birth control since I was a teenager and I haven’t ever missed a dose—and we only ever had sex bare once, at the condo in Florida after you left. Since then, it’s never bare. But even though we always had protected sex, I would lay there thinking about what it would feel like to be with him bare again, and how it would feel to be pregnant, to have a baby…and I found myself not being scared of it.”
