Page 101 of Best Frenemies

“Ah, man!” my dad groans. “Zeppelin was just about to hit my favorite part in ‘Stairway to Heaven’!”

“How did you guys get in here?”

“Your mom got a key made when you were in Savannah over Christmas.”

This is the first time I’ve heard this. Normally, I’d focus on how that is not an appropriate thing to do behind my back, but with the way this day has already gone, I don’t have the brainpower for scolding my parents.

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?” my mom asks. “Sunday is the big day. Gran is going to spread Granddad’s ashes on the Staten Island Ferry. Anniversary of the day they met and all.” When I don’t respond she adds, “Surely you didn’t forget?”

Oh, but I did, because evidently, these days, I’m a woman who has spent the last several weeks practically shacking up with Mack Houston so much so that she just so happens to be pregnant by him and is, for all intents and purposes, a complete mess.

I ignore that thought like my life depends on it.

“Of course I didn’t forget,” I offer a little white lie. The last thing I want to do is let the current drama of my life bleed into what should be a very emotional and poignant weekend for my family. My gran’s been planning this since two days after my granddad died eight months ago. I guess when you’re married for sixty years, doing the right thing by your partner is important to you even after they’re dead. “Where’s Gran?”

“She’s at the hotel taking a nap.”

Both my mom and dad stand up to give me big hugs, and I try my darndest to look like a daughter who is happy to see them and make myself smile through my current mental discomfort.

“It’s so good to see you, Katy,” my mom whispers into my ear. “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too, Mom.”

“Glad to see ya, Katybug.” My dad grips my shoulders in his big hands and playfully jostles me back and forth before giving me a kiss on the forehead.

“Ditto, Dad.”

“So…” My dad pauses long enough to plop back down on my sofa and grab a few Doritos from the open bag. “What’s new in your world, sweetheart?” he asks, popping one chip into his mouth.

And it’s that very question that makes my entire world spin so hard, the nauseous feeling I’ve had all day becomes so strong that I can’t ignore it.

“Not much,” I say through gritted teeth. “Uh…just gonna run to the bathroom real quick. Be right back.”

“Can we turn the music back on?”

“Yes!” I call over my shoulder as I jog into the bathroom connected to my bedroom.

And for the first time in my life, as I’m throwing up all that orange juice I made myself drink at Walgreens, I’m thankful that my dad likes to listen to his music at rock-concert-style levels.

Led Zeppelin drowns out my vomit noises, and I can hear my parents loudly laugh and chat with each other as I hurl a few more times.

By the time my puking session is finished, I wash my hands, brush my teeth, and stare at myself in the mirror, wondering how in the hell I’m going to spend a weekend with my parents and Gran after having six pregnancy tests tell me that I’m knocked up with Mack’s baby.

Now might be a good time to find an OB doctor who has Saturday hours…

Saturday, April 23rd

Mack

I haven’t heard from Katy since yesterday, and it was brief at that. Just a short text telling me she wasn’t feeling well and that she’d call me later.

But the entire rest of the day and night passed without any call.

I’m trying not to worry, but I’ve already attempted to call her twice this morning without an answer.

I’m supposed to have another investors’ meeting with Thatch and the guys this morning at George’s for breakfast, but I can’t bring myself to go there without at least stopping by Katy’s place first. Her apartment isn’t on the way to the Financial District, but I don’t care. I even leave an extra hour early just to give myself enough time.

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