French Fry (The French Twist Series Book 3) Read online

  Thirty minutes and seven outfits later, I felt a million times better. My body may still have been racked by illness and fatigue, but damn if it didn’t look good. Maya insisted I keep on one of her carefully chosen ensembles—a soft gray maxi skirt and a pale blue twinset. Accentuated with a multilayered beaded necklace and matching earrings, I felt like I had stepped out of the pages of a catalogue.

  The only blemish was my scuffed penny loafers, which stayed well hidden under my desk. I promised her I would go shopping for flats as soon as possible. Heels had been removed from my wardrobe until post pregnancy for both the sake of comfort and safety. I was enough of a klutz as it was, but with the sense of imbalance I had developed from carrying a baby, my potential for injury had increased ten-fold.

  Maya zipped up the garment bag with a flourish. “This should keep you stylish for a while. I highly advise visiting Gillian. She works at the store in the Stanford Shopping Center. Tell her who you are and she’ll give you her discount. OK?”

  I carefully sank into my desk chair. “Thank you again, Maya. I’m truly grateful.”

  “Anything for you, Syd.” She picked up her purse and started for the door. “I almost forgot to ask—how’s your dad?”

  I chuckled. My dad had such a soft spot for Maya and the feeling was mutual. Following our rousing discussion of place settings last week (during which I kept thinking of Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman—“That’s the fork I know!”), I had filled her in on my dad’s attempts to woo my mother. She was evidently quite curious about the outcome.

  “Well, the big date didn’t go as well as planned.”

  Maya furrowed her brow. “How so? Your dad is so adorable. How could she resist him?”

  I shook my head at her naiveté. Maya had only known my dad in a superficial fashion. He was absolutely adorable, as well as kind, intelligent and funny. He could also be stubborn, condescending and clueless.

  “My mom has had a lot on her mind lately, what with business ramping up and two grandchildren on the way. She keeps hiring more staff, which has given her the freedom to bug the crap out of Charlie and Zoe in her attempt to be the best grandmother EVER before the baby’s even born.”

  Maya put her hand on the door to my office. “So, what happened during their romantic dinner?”

  I sighed. “She spent the entire time making lists of things to do, alternating between marketing plans for the store and plans for the baby shower. My father must’ve been bored out of his gourd.” And I had a sneaking suspicion he didn’t get any action out of that date. Ew! Why am I thinking about my parents’ sex life? I have enough repulsive things occurring within my own body, I did NOT need to create them in my mind as well.

  She frowned. “Your poor dad. There must be something we can do to help him.”

  “I’m afraid I’m tapped out right now.” I was doing everything possible to keep the romance alive in my own marriage, I couldn’t even begin to come up with new ideas to spark my parents’ marriage. My dad was a big boy; he could come up with a few ideas on his own. This is his second marriage, after all, he must have learned something over the years.

  Maya tapped her finger on the side of her face. This meant she was coming up with some sort of plan. Unfortunately, with her, it could either be pure genius or catastrophic.

  “Maya, what are you plotting?” I honestly wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but I felt the obligation to ask. We were talking about my parents. If anything went wrong, I knew who would be on the receiving end of a very difficult conversation.

  Her eyes darted around the room. “Not sure yet. I’ll let you know if it comes to anything.” With that cryptic comment, she swooped back over to me, planted a kiss on my forehead and swept out the door.

  “’Bye!” I called after her. Maya was always one to make a dramatic exit.

  Rather than focus on the trouble I could find myself in as a result of Maya’s interference with my parents’ marriage, I dug back into the compensation reports I had been reading when she came in. A tedious task indeed (which might result in my becoming permanently cross-eyed), but it would yield a definitive conclusion. As Louis always reminded me, numbers didn’t lie. There was a certain degree of comfort in that, as nerdy as it may sound. Though our methods may have differed, both Louis and I longed for order in a world of chaos. Although something told me with a child in our near future, order was only a very distant possibility.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Obviously something had to be done about my out-of-control hormones. (The struggles I mentioned at the start of this baby joyride are NOTHING in comparison to my current predicament.) The past three weeks had been an exercise in futility as I tried everything under the sun to behave like—or at least project the image of—a rational person. Conducting oneself in a logical manner is a key component in a job encompassing delivering employee disciplinary actions. People simply aren’t able to take me seriously if I outline corrective measures while screaming, whining or crying. Not that it has happened yet, but I feel like I’m on the cusp of such an occurrence.

  On top of what I can only describe as “total-insanity-inducing” hormones, my libido has increased tenfold. Make that hundredfold. Yep. As embarrassing as it is to admit, I find myself at the ripe old age of twenty-eight, the horniest I have ever been in my life.

  Now twenty-four weeks pregnant, my abdomen protrudes as though I were carrying a volleyball under my cute new maternity tops. While it is true I look rather adorable, my increasing size presents certain challenges to my regularly scheduled activities. Sex is becoming a bit, um, complicated to say the least.

  I alternate between lusting after and hating my husband, sometimes within as small as a five minute time span. If I’m lucky enough to keep my feelings under control long enough to get him into bed, we end up struggling to find a position which works for both of us. With Louis’ ever present jiu-jitsu injuries and my pregnancy-induced back and muscle aches, our sexual encounters look like a very naughty game of Twister. Inserting right foot red into mouth. Color me embarrassed!

  And I haven’t even told you the creepiest part. After I have an orgasm, the baby jumps around for a good five minutes! I’m sure if I told Dr. Bauer about it, she would explain the process to me in biological terms and tell me it was nothing to be concerned about, but a) I’m too mortified to bring it up and b) her rational explanation wouldn’t make me feel any less dirty. I came close to asking her at my twenty-four week appointment, but I couldn’t go through with it.

  I had just finished explaining this to Kate—rather hesitantly I might add—when she burst out laughing. My face quickly transformed from the usual pale ivory to a deep puce.

  I scowled at her. “You promised not to laugh.”

  A very unladylike snort told me her fit wasn’t over quite yet. I rolled my eyes and went to join my niece in the living room. After exchanging huge smiles with her, I carefully picked her up and gave her a squeeze.

  Sam giggled and pointed to Kate. “Mama. Funny.”

  I beamed at my precocious niece. At eleven months old, she already knew fifty words. “You’re right, Sam. Mama is VERY funny.”

  Finally able to control herself, Kate said, “Syd, I’m not laughing at you.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Please don’t tell me you were laughing WITH me. We all know that’s a lame excuse we used as kids in an attempt to stay out of trouble with Mom.”

  Sam turned to me. “Dow’, peese.”

  After obliging my niece’s request, I plopped myself onto the couch. Twenty-four weeks, remember? We are past the point of grace. It is simply about function now.

  Kate sat down next to me, doing her best to appear contrite. “I’m sorry, Syd. I didn’t mean to be so insensitive. I found your reaction so funny. When you get as little sleep as I do, it doesn’t take much.”

  I examined my sister closely. She had huge bags under her eyes and her complexion was washed out. Come to think of it, she was still in her pajamas.

  I t
ook her hand. “Kate, are you alright?”

  She sighed. “I will be. You know Sam isn’t the best sleeper to begin with and then she got a nasty cold. Ugh. She was up every hour because of her stuffy nose. Even the humidifier didn’t make much of a difference.”

  Crap. I had forgotten about Sam’s cold. My mind was a complete sieve these days. I probably shouldn’t have picked her up. I had a bad feeling this would come back to bite me later. Cold medicine while pregnant was a big no-no.

  I quickly refocused my attention on Kate. “At least it’s Friday. Nick can help you get some sleep tonight, right?”

  “Maybe…” Kate glanced at the clock over the mantle. Suddenly, she jumped up like she was on fire, exclaimed, “Shit! I have to get dressed!” and barreled out of the room. She was so flummoxed she didn’t realize she had sworn in front of her daughter.

  Sam and I exchanged looks. My little angel was confused. “Mama?”

  I smiled at her. “Mama’s in a hurry.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “Mama? Shh?”

  I bit back the giggle which was threatening to bubble forth. Sydney Durand. This is important. Do. Not. Laugh.

  I cleared my throat, keeping a neutral expression on my face. “Mama. Hurry.”

  Sam contemplated me for a minute before smiling and nodding. Phew. There would be plenty of time for her to increase her profanity repertoire LATER in life. She is, after all, a descendant of Theodore Bennett. A lesson in colorful words was unavoidable in my dad’s presence.

  Ten minutes and two games of peekaboo later, Kate returned to the living room, her composed and well-styled self. Sam toddled over and threw her arms around Kate’s legs. After cuddling her daughter tenderly, Kate turned back to me.

  “Sorry, Syd. I didn’t realize how late it was. Sally and the girls will be here any minute.”

  I eyed her suspiciously. “Who will be here any minute?” She had invited me over for lunch, hadn’t she? I hadn’t imagined our conversation, had I? I CANNOT add hallucinations to my long, long list of pregnancy woes.

  She cast her eyes to the floor. “I invited my mommy group over for lunch today. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Eureka! Now the vast trays of food in her kitchen made sense. I thought she was making some kind of snarky commentary on my ridiculously large appetite. Please, please, please let my brain start functioning again soon. I won’t survive being this dense!

  I sighed. It was time to put my big girl panties back on. I think I might now qualify them as humungous girl panties, but we don’t need to split hairs. My sister has always done everything in her power to help me and I knew her lunch invitation was yet another endeavor to prepare me for motherhood.

  “I’m fine, Kate. I’m sure your friends are wonderful.”

  “There’s no need to be nervous, Syd. I thought it would be nice for you to meet some other mothers. I’ll always be here for you, but sometimes it helps to hear how different women have managed their pregnancies. It’s only information, OK?”

  I saluted her. “OK.” (I am such a dork.)

  But seriously, try to tell that to anyone who has Googled a serious health condition. Information sure doesn’t seem like a bad thing at first, but when you are given multiple conflicting sources of information, it can scare the crap out of you. I can’t imagine each and every one of her mommy group friends agreeing on the pregnancy experience. It always ends up being a competition of who had it the worst. Brace yourself, Sydney. Take everything you hear with a grain of salt. (If only the salt could go with a nice frozen margarita!)

  Fifteen minutes later, all four mommies had arrived with various children in tow. Liz, mother of Emily (eleven months), was a tall, dark haired beauty with a wicked sense of humor. I liked her instantly. Gwen, mother of Cole (fourteen months), was a petite redhead with an unbelievably sweet manner. Charlotte, (mother of Kayla and Hailey, thirteen month old twins), was my height and had the most gorgeous honey colored hair I had ever seen. She also looked like she hadn’t slept in about a week. And last, but not least, Sally, mother of Avery (ten months) and Will (three years), was the spitting image of Meg Ryan’s character in When Harry Met Sally. She even sounded like her. I actually thought I was hallucinating meeting Sally Albright herself when we were first introduced. Pregnancy brain strikes again.

  After Kate made the introductions, the group settled into its normal routine. I found the whole process to be fascinating. The floor was opened up for discussion and everyone brought forth some kind of issue—food allergy, sleep disruption, diaper rash—and the remaining members jumped in with not only their own pertinent experiences, but also web resources for possible solutions. It was amazing! Kate had created a powerful forum where women were given empathy, advice and humor. Pure genius!

  Once the discussion of current issues was over, everyone adjourned to the dining room for lunch and the topic turned to their pregnancies. Apparently, my somewhat large presence prompted the change in subject matter. Over a delicious chicken piccata, I heard the most ridiculous stories of, um, unfortunate bodily functions and bizarre eating habits. Imagine my surprise when some of these tales came from my very own sister!

  I spent an inordinate amount of time with her during her pregnancy and I wasn’t privy to such information. I heard all about indigestion, numerous swollen body parts, rashes, facial hair, incontinence and, of course, the requisite aches, pains and nausea. Lovely lunch conversation, I realize, but I think this crowd was past caring.

  Rather than becoming overwhelmed with the barrage of possible maladies coming for me in my third trimester, I found myself in shock of what my sister had hidden from me. My mouth must have been on the floor, because Kate turned to me and giggled.

  “Why would I tell you about those things, Syd? It would have made you worry unnecessarily and…you’ve always thought I was so perfect. I kind of wanted to keep it that way.”

  My first inclination was to pout and whine, “You lied to me!” However, a) we were not alone and b) I was about to be someone’s mother; I could no longer conduct myself in such a juvenile manner. (I’m working on it!)

  Instead, I hugged her. “Kate, I’ll always think you’re perfect.” I peeked into her pale blue eyes and smiled. “But it would’ve been nice to see a bit of your human side too. I could’ve helped more.”

  It was true there had been very few times in my life when I had seen Kate do anything less than perfectly. Immediately, my mind settled on a memory of Kate falling asleep while pumping and waking up when the breast pump attached itself to her stomach. I hadn’t witnessed it first-hand, but was told of Kate’s desperate screaming by my mom, who had been with her for the first few weeks after Sam was born. Merely the thought of it made my lip twitch.

  DO NOT laugh, Sydney! Your sister is trying to support you! You cannot tell this story in front of Kate’s safe group. I doubt she has exposed herself to them with this particular gem. I mean, there are new mommy stories and there are REALLY embarrassing new mommy stories. This one needed to stay in the vault.

  Overwhelmed by the need to giggle, I quickly excused myself to the bathroom. One of the major advantages of being pregnant is no one ever questions your need to pee. This is a brilliant way to get out of any unwanted or difficult situation. And more often than not, there is peeing to be done—no matter when you excuse yourself.

  After ensuring I had my giggles under control, I returned to the living room to find the group in full swing. Hmmm. I guess lunch was over. I still had a little chicken on my plate. Although, I was ninety-nine percent sure Kate had already put together a collection of leftovers for me to take home.

  She knew as well as I did—when you found a food which worked with your unsettled stomach, you stuck with it. She would probably send me home with enough for a few days. The thought of my stomach being fairly settled for the next couple of days made me smile. Kate was too good to me.

  With a sigh of contentment, I took a moment to survey the crowd. This wasn’t so bad. Th
e mommies were down on the floor with their babies, reading books in silly voices, acting out scenes with adorable stuffed animals or teaching their little ones how to use shape sorters. It was almost like a modern-day Norman Rockwell painting. A feeling of peace settled over me as I realized I could totally do this. Babies weren’t as scary as I had originally thought.

  As if on cue, screams ensued from the far end of the living room. I quickly assessed some sort of issue between Emily and Cole, which most likely started over the red fire engine they were playing tug-of-war with. I thought I heard a burst of profanity, but with all the noise, I honestly couldn’t tell if it came from a little one or one of the mothers. Gwen and Liz were valiantly trying to address the looming baby throw down, while the rest of us tried not to stare. I spotted Charlotte scooping up Hailey and Kayla while Kate secured Sam, since it appeared they were all ready to join in the battle royale. I told you! My Sammy has spunk. (Shhh! Kate hates it when I call her Sammy.)

  I was so engrossed in the baby drama unfolding in front of me, I almost didn’t hear Sally calling my name. I looked up to find her handing Avery to me.

  “I’m sorry to ask you this, Sydney, but Will has to use the potty. Would you mind burping Avery?” She was practically yelling so as to be heard over the chaos on the other side of the living room.

  I nodded helplessly as she affixed a burp cloth to my shoulder and handed me her youngest child. She chuckled a little at what I can only imagine was the deer-caught-in-headlights panic on my face and hurried Will off to the bathroom.

  I grinned timidly at Avery, put him over my shoulder and promptly froze. How do you burp a baby? What if I hit him too hard? Crap! I should have asked Kate to practice more on Sam. I was always afraid of getting spit up on. And before you judge me too harshly, have you ever had the pleasure of this experience from a breast fed baby? The smell of sour milk is overpowering and the spit up won’t come out of your clothes. EVER. No matter how you place the damn burp cloth, some spit up always gets on your clothes. ALWAYS.