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

  He sighed. “Oh, Duck.”

  I was exhausted. “No kidding, old man.”

  “I wish you lived here.”

  Tears threatened to spill out of my eyes once more. For the second time in the past few days I wondered if this were the start of pregnancy hormones. Wasn’t it a bit early? I vowed to do some web research as soon as possible. I needed a much better idea of what I was dealing with, especially if I had any hope of developing a plan to tame my inner beast.

  “Sometimes I do too, Dad.”

  He feigned offense. “Sometimes?”

  “Daddy, you know I love you.”

  His voice softened. “Of course, I do, my little Duck.”

  I massaged my neck slowly. “I can’t make too many major life changes at once. This one, though I wouldn’t call it a conscious decision, is enough to keep me reeling for quite a while.”

  “You’re going to be fine, Syd. You may be scared now, but give yourself time to get used to the idea.”

  “Do you promise to remind me of this fact often? I am battling a lifetime of bad habits, after all.”

  He chuckled. “Indeed, I will, Duck.”

  “May I ask for one more favor, Dad?”

  “Absolutely. What can I do for you?”

  “Would you, please, take me off speaker phone? I think your customers already know WAY too much about my personal life.”

  “Sure thing, Duck.”

  “Aces.”

  After I hung up with my father, I snuggled into the plush pillows on the couch and closed my eyes. The experience of telling my family about our new addition wasn’t as painful as I thought it would be. In an effort to steer my thoughts away from the major discussion my parents, Charlie and Zoe were currently having about my precarious mental state, I thought about baby names.

  Can you believe it? I have honed in on a fun thing associated with having a baby! Choosing a name for the newest member of the Durand family will be the first task which Louis and I will face as parents. This momentous decision will set the tone for the remainder of our child rearing experience, so we had better make it count.

  Great. While trying to keep my mind in a positive zone, I managed to open up a whole new can of pressure. What a unique talent I have! I hope to parlay this talent into a more rational sensibility in the next eight months. It couldn’t be that hard, could it?

  Chapter Three

  Louis and I spent the rest of the weekend trying to get used to the idea of becoming parents. Since it is nearly impossible to mentally prepare yourself for such a task, we decided to focus on things we could do fairly easily. We discussed turning our office nook into a makeshift nursery (searching for a larger apartment was too much for us to fathom at this moment in time) and delved into IKEA and Pottery Barn catalogues in pursuit of furniture to match the crib my parents were buying us. It felt like the perfect activity to get our feet wetwith—both innocuous and functional. How frightening can furniture be, right?

  When Monday morning arrived, I knew I had two important tasks on my agenda for the day. The first was to tell my boss, Vivian, about my pregnancy. Since she had told me often she thought of me as the little sister she had always wanted, I was fairly sure she would be happy. I imagined we would spend a good hour discussing details about the baby’s nursery as well as the baby shower she would want to help Kate plan. Vivian was one of the kindest people I knew and she absolutely ADORED babies. She had two beautiful daughters who had grown well out of the cuddling stage, so a new baby was right up her alley.

  The other task was one I was loath to commit. Having to tell one of my closest friends I’m pregnant should be something I look forward to doing. However, when your friend is somewhat self-absorbed and, um, not particularly interested in babies (I’m almost convinced she hates them), the task becomes daunting. Then factor in that she is getting married in less than seven months AND I’m her matron of honor and the task becomes absolutely terrifying.

  While I finished getting ready for work, I mentally calculated, yet again, how pregnant I would be for Maya’s wedding. My due date is in mid-June (the best I can approximate at present) and her wedding is June seventh. Ouch. It isn’t going to be pretty. What pregnant woman looks good in ANY dress so close to her due date? And I don’t buy the idea of all pregnant women being beautiful—not at the end of the third trimester. Not when you have three chins, cankles and are so large you should have a sign which reads, “WIDE LOAD” slapped across your ass. Not on your life.

  Let us also keep in mind, Maya has a stunning figure and has chosen bridesmaids who do as well, in order to maximize the beauty of her wedding photos. I stopped cold wondering if she would kick me out of her wedding party on the grounds that I would be an eyesore in the photos she had planned to cherish for eternity. She is just shallow enough to do such a thing. She would probably even tell me it would be for the “greater good.” Maybe I should volunteer to bow out. This would save me the humiliation of her firing me as her matron of honor and would honestly give me an overwhelming sense of relief.

  Things have changed quite a bit in the Land of Oz as of late. Maya has now surpassed my perfectionist standards—at least with regards to her wedding. SHE is starting to scare ME. This comment in itself should be a sign to you of how bad things have gotten. I am the quintessential perfectionist! For the first twenty-seven years of my life, the slightest problem would send me into a tailspin. Thank goodness when I met Louis I was able to tone things down considerably. (OK, by at least thirty percent. Possibly forty on a good day.) But, Maya? She has swung way too far in the other direction.

  Don’t believe me? Listen to this! She has only been planning this wedding for six weeks and has changed her mind on her choice of dress three times, has revamped the venue twice, has fired her COUSIN as her wedding planner and has made a multitude of her vendors cry. I can’t imagine how hard up these poor people are for cash that they would put up with her shenanigans.

  After reliving the insanity of the past week, I found myself wishing I could tell her fiancé, Devon, instead and have him pass the news on to her. True, Maya is one of my closest friends, but there is no warm and fuzzy about her. However, Devon is the nicest human on the planet. I didn’t think it was possible, but he is actually nicer than my perfect sister, Kate.

  When I arrived at work, I elected to tell Vivian first, since I needed a dose of joy before approaching Maya, hereafter known as Maleficent. As predicted, Vivian was overjoyed and launched into a list of things we simply had to do to prepare for the baby. Her joy was infectious and I was thrilled to have a wave of happiness to ride before I was shot down into the pit of despair by my good friend Maya.

  After one final hug from Vivian, I went back to my office and closed the door. The sooner I called her, the sooner I could stop worrying about her reaction. I dialed Maya’s number and waited patiently for my execution.

  “Where have you been, Syd? I called you three times yesterday!”

  I flinched at her harsh tone. Please let this not be a sign of things to come. “Hello to you too, Maya. How is the wedding planning going?” I braced myself for impact.

  “Fan-fucking-tastic, Syd. How do you think?”

  I wasn’t sure if it was safe to answer this kind of question. Was it meant rhetorically? Or was she going to yell at me if I didn’t say anything? I decided to stay silent and wait for her to continue into what I imagined to be a long tirade.

  She scoffed in disgust. “Syd? Are you there?”

  I cleared my throat. “Yup! I’m still here. I wasn’t sure if you had anything you wanted to add to the ‘fan-fucking-tastic’ comment.” Nice one, Sydney. Your astute observation couldn’t possibly set her off.

  She laughed bitterly. “I always have plenty to say on any subject, babe. You know that.”

  Uh oh. My Maya radar is picking up a rather large abnormality. Maya is sarcastic, snarky and definitely obnoxious, but bitter? Houston, we have a serious problem.

  “Maya, are you OK?
” I held my breath.

  Silence. This was a VERY bad sign. Maya always had something to say. ALWAYS.

  I tried again. “Maya, is there anything I can do to help?”

  Still nothing. Not a peep! From Maya! The girl who is impossible to shut up. The girl who will tell you her opinion even when you expressly ask her to keep it to herself. What the heck was going on?

  I was about to hang up and drive over to her office, when I heard her clear her throat. Phew. She was finally ready to tell me what was bothering her.

  Maya’s voice shook slightly when she said, “Devon and I have decided to postpone the wedding.”

  My heart stopped. Shut the front door! She isn’t going to postpone the wedding because she doesn’t want me to look like an elephant standing next to her, is she? I wasn’t entirely serious when I mentioned it earlier. But I knew instantly this wasn’t about me. Something must have happened between Devon and Maya.

  Very proudly keeping my inner lunatic in check, I carefully broached the subject. “What happened, sweetie?”

  She bristled. “I’m fine. Maybe he isn’t the man for me.”

  This statement gave me pause. Devon is sweet, funny, extremely well mannered, successful and drop-dead gorgeous to boot. (AND he regularly put up with her crap with a degree of grace which was unfathomable.)Any woman would be lucky to have him. An event of epic proportions must have taken place to cause Maya to question her affinity for such a man. I was eager to get to the bottom of it, but knew I had to choose my words very carefully.

  I bit my lip. “Did you guys have a fight?”

  “No.” She hesitated. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  Hmmm. This may be harder than I thought. Usually Maya is very forthcoming with information, so having to extract data from her is a fairly foreign concept.

  “Um, did he say or do something to upset you?” Those were definitely the better odds. Devon is fairly easygoing. Maya, not so much.

  “Perhaps.”

  I felt a small amount of rage building inside me. I didn’t usually have to work this hard to get Maya to tell me something. (Other than the whole Jean debacle, but we can reminisce later.) Why am I getting so annoyed? I honestly felt like if I were sitting in front of her right now, I would punch her in the face. Dear God. Where did THAT come from?

  I had the sinking feeling my so-called pregnancy hormones were, in fact, kicking in. I kept meaning to check the websites Zoe had sent, but couldn’t seem to remember to actually do it when I had access to a computer. I was too busy during the day to check at work and Louis was in constant possession of our laptop when we were at home.

  It was high time I took Kate up on her offer to go pregnancy book shopping. (I knew there would be no competition for hard copy reading material with Louis. These days, if the information didn’t exist on a screen, there was very little chance he would read it.) But first, I had to get a grip on myself so I could help my friend Maya, who was evidently having some kind of existential crisis to be stupid enough to consider letting Devon (AKA Superman) go.

  Back to our regularly scheduled programming. “Maya, I love you dearly, but please just tell me what happened.” Or I may have to kill you. Not really. Well, maybe.

  “Jeez, Sydney, what’s up your ass today?”

  If you only knew, Maya. If you only knew. One crisis at a time.

  I took a deep breath. “Please. I’m trying to help you, but you’re not making it easy.”

  “Fine. Devon is being very controlling with the wedding expenses. And if he’s this controlling with the wedding, well, I don’t like to think about how controlling he’ll be once we get married.”

  Oh boy. This could take a while.

  I rubbed my temples. “I thought Devon had turned over the wedding planning to you?”

  “He did!” she grumbled. “But then he saw some of the invoices on my dining room table and started telling me we didn’t have the budget of a royal family to pay for the wedding. As if!”

  I coughed to cover up a cackle. I can’t even imagine what kind of expenses he encountered (and how many more she had hidden from him). I think Maya has a secret desire to have her wedding covered by a glamorous magazine, thereby leading to a career as a reality star.

  I must admit to believing she could EASILY have her own show. With her petite frame, beautiful face and amazing fashion sense, people would totally tune in simply to watch her. And, as you well know by now, her personality should have its own zip code, so how could it not be a winner? She was already a YouTube sensation with her instructional accessorizing videos; this was the next logical step.

  Tearing myself back to reality, I sighed inwardly and said, “I hate to ask this, but…” I paused to stop myself from saying, ‘I will because you’re crazy to think of giving up an amazing man so you can spend ridiculous sums of money on asinine things which won’t make you happy’ and went with the more practical, “You and Devon have at least discussed a ballpark figure in terms of a wedding budget, right?”

  I crossed my fingers and waited for an answer. Maybe I could make her see she was being unreasonable. Maybe I could make her see she could have a beautiful wedding without spending every dime they had. Maybe I would be able to get it through her exasperating head that the whole point of this event is to be joined to her partner for the rest of her life.

  “I can spend whatever I want to spend. I’m the bride.”

  And maybe I was on crack.

  While I considered my next move, I noticed a crowd of employees gathered in front of the window next to my closed office door. Shoot! I was late for the Activities Committee meeting. Not a good thing since it is my job to run it.

  I leaned my head into my hand. “I’m so sorry, Maya, but I’m late for a meeting. I promise to call you as soon as I get out. We’ll figure this out together.”

  “Whatever.” Click.

  I studied the phone for a few seconds, quickly put it back in its cradle and grabbed my notepad. I had no choice but to shift my brain quickly from worries about my impending motherhood and Maya’s questionable nuptials to important things like, should we have the shrimp or prosciutto appetizer in addition to the dozens of others we had already chosen? Not to belittle the importance of the company’s annual holiday party in any way (The morale boost is huge!), but it is impossible to please everyone and I had much more pressing things to worry about. Why couldn’t people be grateful for the huge amount of money spent to allow them to attend a fancy party with gourmet food and free booze?

  Put on your game face, Sydney. Your role as the consummate diplomat calls. First, you will tackle the Activities Committee’s latest debate and then you will move on to the big leagues – your good friend Maya. My shoulders sank slightly. This piddly meeting would definitely not be enough of a warm-up.

  Three hours later, I had put out all my work-related fires and I could finally turn my attention back to Maya. She was going to be rather pissed that it had taken me this long to get back to her. I didn’t like to think about the rebuke I was in for, but my schedule had been out of my hands.

  I reluctantly reached for the phone when it started to ring. Damn. She must be REALLY angry to condescend to call me back. A quick check of the caller ID told me the call was actually from my illustrious husband.

  I grabbed the phone with delight. “Hi, Bluey!”

  A rich, deep laugh came across the line. “Mon coeur! How is my beautiful wife this afternoon?”

  I sighed with contentment. “So happy to talk to you. How are you?”

  “Crazy busy as usual. Did you tell Maya?”

  “Um, no, but I did talk with her.”

  Louis cleared his throat. “And your pregnancy didn’t come up?”

  I gasped in surprise. “Louis! Lower your voice! We aren’t telling anyone but family and close friends until the second trimester!”

  He sighed. “Relax. I have my office door closed.”

  “Thank goodness. I’m not ready for everyone to know yet.” />
  He snorted. “Obviously! Although I have to say, I am little surprised you did not tell her.”

  I fiddled with my wedding ring absently. “I wanted to tell her, despite my fear of her inevitable freak out in reference to my, um, need for a maternity matron of honor dress, but she told me there may not be a wedding!”

  Louis started coughing uncontrollably. I must have hit him with this news mid-sip of coffee. (The man should have his very own coffee IV, given how many cups of espresso he drinks during the course of one day.) I guess I should have tipped him off. Although in all fairness, news associated with Maya is often shocking. She should come with her own warning label.

  I waited for the coughing to die down before saying, “Everything alright, Bluey?”

  “Yes. Fine.” Louis had finally regained control of his voice. “What happened?”

  “I didn’t get the full explanation because I was late for a meeting, but it has something to do with her excessive spending for the wedding.”

  I heard a muffled laugh. “Sounds about right.”

  “Louis Durand! This is serious! They may not get married because of this!” How could he not see what a big deal this was? I clenched my fists in irritation.

  Louis’ voice cut through my exclamation. “Syd! Have a little faith. Devon will work it out; he always does. I love Maya as much as you do, but she is a…what is it you always say? A handful!”

  I exhaled loudly, willing myself to relax. “I know, but she’s such a good person, you know, underneath all the scary stuff. I just want her to be happy.”

  I could feel the stinging from the tears forming in my eyes. Why am I getting so upset about this? Rats! Here we go again. That’s it! Kate and I are going book shopping tomorrow. I have to get a better idea of what this little one has in store for me. I’m enough of a freak as it is. The world is simply not ready for Pregnant Sydney. And frankly, neither am I.

  “It is going to be fine, Syd. You will see.”

  I bit my lip. “If you say so. You’re the man.” I enjoyed poking fun at his borderline chauvinistic tendencies. I found them adorable in small doses.