A Bump in the Road (28 page)

“OK.”

“He’s constantly staring at other women when we’re all together and says things like, ‘That girl’s tits make me wish I wasn’t married. Are you with me?’ ” Jake imitated Matt’s tone and threw his hands in the air. “Do you not see any of this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Wake up, Clare. This guy’s a scumbag.”

“You don’t even know what—”

“Yes, I do. I can’t stand the guy.”

I folded my arms in front of my chest and glared at him. He shrugged. “I’ve never said anything because Reese is your friend. You asked for my opinion.”

“I realize that. So what am I supposed to do?”

“Just be her friend. It’s all you can do. And support her when she comes to her senses and divorces him.”

I gave him a withering look. “Divorce? Doubtful.”

“Oh, right.”

“Yeah. Reese’s dad had like fifty mistresses and her parents slept in separate bedrooms but they never divorced. Divorce just isn’t done in Reese’s family.”

“Regardless, she better wise up.”

I nodded and sighed heavily. I walked over to him and snuggled next to him on the couch. I buried my face in his shoulder, against his soft T-shirt that smelled like laundry detergent, and closed my eyes as he rubbed my back and twirled my ponytail.

I fell fast asleep.

I woke up around midnight last night, thinking about Reese and Matt, worrying about the worst. Completely unmotivated to do work, I resumed my daily Internet surfing but started Googling things like “Signs your mate is cheating on you.” I desperately wanted to ask the Internet for advice but I knew Reese would cut out my liver with a spatula if I so much as hinted at any problems.

During my hand-wringing, I remembered a Web site I used when planning my wedding: Bride Talk. There was a special message board for women having marital problems. Out of morbid curiosity, I read post after post about cheating spouses, abusive husbands, and overbearing mothers-in-law. (Man, was I tempted to post about that one.) After an hour, I became so depressed I stopped and almost clicked off, but the Baby Chat message board caught my eye. I clicked on it and saw posts titled “Lost my mucus plug! Yippee!” and “Just miscarried at sixteen weeks.” I quickly closed the Web site.

Which lasted fifteen minutes before I went back on Baby Chat and furiously opened every post, soaking up information, fascinated and horrified at the same time. I was so transfixed I didn’t see Mule Face come in.

“The florist from the Flynn wedding just called and their biggest grower is having problems securing enough cream flowers for the wedding. They want to know if they can use pale pink as a filler,” she said.

I jumped and quickly closed my Internet browser, flustered as hell.

“Oh, um, yeah. I mean, no. That’s not OK.”

She stared at me and examined her nails. “I figured. Good luck with that one. God. My nails have gone to shit. I need a manicure.” She looked up. “Oh, I almost forgot. Here.” She thrust an envelope in my direction and clicked off, teetering in her inappropriate-for-work purple suede wedges.

I looked down.
Yes!
Mule Face’s wedding invitation! I tore open the envelope and squealed with delight as I saw the iridescent gold lettering on red velvet backing and the enclosed card outlining where the couple is registered. Ahhhhh, the world might be going to shit and Reese’s husband cheating on her, but at least I could still count on Mule Face to take tacky to a whole new level.

With a smile on my face, I cheerfully checked yes on the reply card and got back to reading stories about women who were permanently paralyzed from pain medication during labor.

“When are we going on a babymoon?” I asked Jake as he was opening a carton of moo shoo pork.

He paused, holding the container in the air. “What?”

“A babymoon. When and where are we going?” I tapped my finger on the counter.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said as he spooned food onto his plate.

“You’ve never heard of it?”

He shook his head. Truth was, I hadn’t heard of it either until yesterday, on Baby Chat.

“It’s a trip we’re supposed to take before the baby’s born. You know, since we won’t be able to leave the house ever again, let alone take a vacation.”

“Babymoon? That doesn’t even make sense,” he said, handing me a plate of Chinese food.

“Why not?” I asked. I looked at the food and my stomach turned at the sight of wormlike lo mein noodles. I set the plate down on the counter.

“It’s supposed to sound like ‘honeymoon,’ right?”

“I guess.”

“A honeymoon is what you take after the wedding. So wouldn’t a
babymoon mean after the baby?” His mouth twitched as he looked at me.

“I don’t know. I just know that we’re supposed to.”

“Supposed to?”

“It’s not fair. Other people get to.” Clearly, I am very mature and not at all like a whiny child.

“Fine. Let’s see how much it would cost.” He picked up his plate and walked into the living room and flipped on the television.

I followed him. “Oh. I don’t really care if we go away. I just wanted to see what you thought.”

“I know,” he said, laughing, his eyes never leaving the TV.

With all this Reese drama, I completely forgot about this dinner tonight. Jake’s old friend from high school, Grant, is in town with his girlfriend. I’m kinda tired and not really feeling well. I feel a little nauseous from eating a spicy taco for lunch. I was looking forward to watching television tonight. I don’t know Grant well, but I think he’s kind of boring.

What else?

Oh, his girlfriend is a disgusting ho.

No really, she is.

I met her a couple of years ago at a wedding. Jake introduced me and then was dragged away to do tequila shots so I was stuck talking to Grant for forty minutes. It wasn’t so much us talking as me occasionally nodding while he droned on and on about his new kitchen remodel.
For forty minutes
. It was one of those conversations where I almost started to panic because I didn’t know how I was going to get out of it alive and intact without having to do the verbal equivalent of chewing off my arm to escape captivity. I think I even blacked out for a while while he was describing his backsplash. I kept trying to desperately point to the bathroom and feign a full bladder but he ignored
all of my cries. So, I was thankful when I saw a rather overweight woman resembling Anna Nicole Smith wearing a teal sequined dress approaching us. That is, until she walked over, licked Grant’s face, and patted him on the crotch.

I swear, I almost puked up my five vodka tonics right there. (But I waited until later to do that.) I had to be polite and shake her hand when he introduced her as his new girlfriend. She shook my hand with the same one she used for grabbing Grant’s package. Ew.

Later, we all enjoyed watching them bump crotches on the dance floor and I’m pretty sure I saw her stick her hand down his pants a few times.

Is that not the definition of a disgusting ho?

Since Jake possesses an inability to say no or blow anyone off, we are stuck breaking bread with these freaks tonight.

11:00
P.M.

I’ve taken five showers and I still don’t feel like I’m clean enough. I wonder if overexposure to cK One causes permanent brain damage to an unborn child? If so, we are royally screwed. I think she wore enough perfume to kill every carbon-based life-form in a four-block radius. I got stuck sitting across from her so I watched the half-chewed food rolling around in her mouth as she told stories about her last boyfriend, “Tank.” Grant entertained us all with an exhilarating lecture on “The Time My Laptop Crashed and I Almost Lost a PowerPoint Presentation.” I got through it by singing the lyrics to “We Didn’t Start the Fire” in my head and texting Julie about Mule Face’s honeymoon plans in Gatlinburg, Tennessee.

Julie sent me a text back that said,
You would die. Vince Vaughn is two feet away eating dinner. Call tomorrow for details
.

Julie was off having fabulous cocktails at a fabulous restaurant seeing fabulous movie stars and I was stuck listening to a story that involved the words “I mean, what was I supposed to do? So I told the guy, forget it, man, I’m going to Kinko’s.”

I also learned there is a kind of metallic paint magnets stick to. It
makes me very curious—do other metal objects stick to the wall, like pots and pans? It could make for a very interesting art-deco theme.

I can’t help but wonder if tonight was just a smaller microcosm of what’s happening in our lives. Take the bore and the ho out of the equation and you have me and Jake at dinner, going home early, and Julie out at a hip restaurant, living a city-girl life that not too long ago, I lived, too.

When Jake and I got engaged and moved out of the city, we were ready to settle down a little, ready for a bigger place and an actual parking space. I knew I’d see Julie less and lose touch with the trendy clubs and restaurants but I didn’t mind. But now, forget not only the hot new clubs and restaurants, forget any nightlife. At least for a while. I just don’t want everything in my life to change. I know some things will and that’s OK, but I still want to be
me
a year from now. And that “me” does not include the new back fat I’ve developed. The big, beautiful boobs can stay.

I don’t know, maybe I’m just in a rotten mood because we have to babysit Sam this weekend. I can’t mentally or physically deal with drunken teenagers right now. I have enough of that in my future when Mr. Skeletor is in high school and we have to start marking our liquor bottles.

“Oh my God! You look just like Sam! Like, I could’ve sworn you guys were like
twin
sisters! Except that you’re pregnant!” The sixteen-year-old girl looked at me with manic excitement, as though I just told her Sephora started offering free shopping sprees.

“Really? Because . . .” I tried to think of a way to respond since Sam and I look nothing alike.

“Oh my gawd! You guys even have the same effing voice! Kelly, come over here!” The girl waved over some other girl who was standing in the kitchen.