(Brad)
Colleen has a problem and in rides Brad
.
WE'RE HAVING A
baby. Well, we're trying to have a baby. Hell, we might already have one on the way. I have no clue. Apparently, I can't just man up and tell her that I'm in love with her, but I can tell her I want to have a baby with her. This probably says something about me.
"I can't wait to go shopping for maternity clothes!"
Colleen blurts out from across the room. And it is comments like that that remind me how very real our decision is. Talking about having a baby is one thing, but having sex without any protection in
order
to have a baby is quite another. How did I get into this, again?
Oh.
Yeah. I thought that a baby would make Colleen happy. I know that a baby will make me happy. I know that I want a baby with Colleen, but I have the nagging feeling that this just isn't a good idea. Which all leads me to wonder how far am I willing to go to make her happy.
"Dude,"
Colleen says. I look up at her to find that she's got her t-shirt pulled up and she's looking at her profile in the full-length mirror. Well, she doesn't look pregnant yet. "You think I'm already knocked up?" She smiles. I shrug. Damn if I know. I've never knocked anyone up before.
"You really want to
have a baby with me?” I ask her seriously. She drops her shirt and walks over to me. She isn’t smiling, she looks very serious. She places her hands on my cheeks and smiles softly.
“
Bradley Patrick,” she says nary above a whisper. “There is nobody else I’d rather be married to, or have a baby with, or be tied to in such a permanent way.” And what the hell does she mean by that?
“As a friend, right?” I say, giving her a chance to say something. The words she says don’t sound like things friends say to each other. I should know, I’ve been saying shit like that to her for years and I’ve never said anything close to that to any of my girlfriends. She’s the only one.
She’s always been the only one. I thought Heather might have been a good substitute for a while, but she never even came close to being my pretty girl.
Her face falls. I swear to God she looks like she’s about to cry. “Is there something you need to tell me?” I ask, trying to get her to say what seems to be written all over her face.
“You’re my best friend,” She leans up and kisses the corner of my mouth.
“We better go,” I mumble and turn to walk out of the room.
“WHAT’S GOING ON
with you and Colleen?” Dan asks. I take a long pull of my beer and think about that for a moment and I come up with nothing.
“I have no clue,” I say, “she’s bipolar.”
Dan laughs.
“She’s not the only one,” Charlotte plops down on the picnic bench beside me and snorts at her own comment. She think
s she’s real funny, always has.
“Where’s my girl?” I nudge my older sister and cock an eyebrow at her. She points across the yard. My niece,
Sarah, is pulling on Colleen’s t-shirt and gabbing away. Colleen is talking to her and making her laugh. I involuntarily smile at the sight. She may be a damn difficult human being but she is going to be an amazing mom. I’ve never doubted that.
“You never come by and visit anymore, little brother,” Charlotte pokes me in my arm. “I guess you’re busy being a
ll married now, right?” I sigh.
“I guess,” I mumble. She opens her mouth to say something else but is distracted by my nephew,
George, who is trying to climb over the back fence and get into a neighboring yard. He’s eight now. What are you going to do? Immediately, she rushes over to him and starts yanking him down. I love that boy.
“So, what’s really going on, son?”
Dan gives me the side eye. “I’ve been a cop for a long time, kid. I know when something’s up.” I look away, doing my best to avoid his question.
“We’re trying to have a baby,” I mutter, trying to keep
Dan from asking anymore questions. The way I figure it is if I’m talking about sex with his daughter, then maybe he’ll drop the subject. No dice.
“Look,” he leans in and rubs his mustache. “I know this whole marriage thing was supposed to be a joke and a bunch of shit went down, okay? I know you guys didn’t intend to stay married. But my wife doesn’t know; and all she can talk about is how happy she is now that you two are together. When I say happy,
Bradley,” he trails off and gives me the most serious expression I’ve ever seen him give anybody—including a suspect. “I mean
happy
and when she’s happy, Bradley, I’m happy. Don’t make me unhappy, Bradley.” I laugh a little nervously at his statement.
“How in the hell do you know that?” I hiss.
Dan smiles proudly. Darla walks over and hands him a beer. He grins up at her.
“Here’s your beer, pop,” she says and walks away. I catch the smile he g
ives her and I just know who the rat is. The rat is Darla. Dan catches my look and straightens up.
“So, have you told her yet?”
Dan sighs happily as he opens his fresh beer.
“Told her what?” I ask, claiming ignora
nce.
“You mean to tell me that you married my daughter and now you’re trying to get her pregnant—“ he pauses, a disgusted look crosses his face as he realizes the conversation he’s stepped into, “and you haven’t even told her you’re in love with her?” I look away from hi
m. He already knows the answer.
“What, you don’t want me to knock her up?” I try to divert the conversation. He just shakes his head and
stands up as my dad walks over.
“Your son is an idiot,”
Dan looks John square in the eye and shakes his head.
“Yours isn’t any better,” my dad laughs and points to
James who is, on a dare from my own mother, chugging two beers at once.
“
Louise probably shouldn’t of drank with that one,” Dan smirks and walks away. My dad laughs and sits down beside me.
“Is
Colleen pregnant?” I’m surprised by his question. I definitely wasn’t expecting that. I stand up and shift my weight from foot to foot. Sensing my discomfort, he stands as well.
"She ain't knocked up," I say defiantly. My dad cocks his head to the side and looks over my shoulder. I turn around and see what's holding his attention.
Colleen. She looks amazing, and there in her arms is Alex. I watch, captivated, as she rubs noses with him. "Well," dad says, "by the way she's looking at that kid, if she isn't pregnant now, she will be soon."
“Why would you even ask that?” I ask. I know I’m snapping at him, when really he’s done nothing wrong, but damn
it. Why the hell is he asking?
“Calm down, son,” he raises his arms in the air, surrendering. “I just ask because she’s over there asking your mother how long it took her to get pregnant with you and the girls; seem
s like she wants a baby to me.”
“Yeah,” I grumble, “she
wants a fucking baby, alright.”
Somehow, it wasn’t clear to me before; but it sure is now.
Colleen wants to be a mother. She wants to have a child. Whatever I saw on her face earlier wasn’t what I thought it was. For a moment there I thought I saw love in her eyes. But it wasn’t love, after all. I’m just a means to an end and as her best friend, who better to do the deed?
She doesn’t want a baby with me, she just wants a baby and I’m a willing participant. I just can’t believe I didn’t
see it before now. All of her “attempts” to be a real couple that had my head spinning were, after all, a fucking ploy. What was it she said back in Vegas? She thought she’d be married by now?
Colleen
has a problem and in rides Brad, the ever-willing participant. I’m sick of it. I just can’t keep going on and giving and giving. I just can’t be her rock when she needs me and a pebble that she trips over when she’s gotten what she wants. She is my entire world. My first memory in life is of her; and every important moment in my life has her in it—my pretty girl—and I want my last moment to be with her as well. But I’m so fucking sick of taking scraps and the little tiny bits that she throws me.
I’m done.
“Uncle Brad!” Sarah yells as she runs toward me. I bend down and scoop her into my arms. At the age of seven, she’s getting pretty big. She’s tall for her age, but so skinny; and she has this bright red hair, just like her mom.
“What’cha doing?” she asks with a toothy grin. I chuckle at her enthusiasm. I’m pretty sure she is the Energizer Bunny,
because she never stops going.
“Just thinking,” I say.
“Oh,” she says, “well stop it. You look like you have to poop!” A real laugh slips through and I throw my head back. Sarah is never one to think before speaking; a problem which will likely get her in trouble when she gets older. She and Colleen may not share any genetic material, but they are so much alike in so many ways.
“Who’s that?”
Sarah screams and tugs on my arm. I look to the sliding back door and see Vicky of all people coming out. Darla rushes over to her and hugs her. Vicky looks shocked but smiles anyway. I spot Colleen, Alex still in her arms, eyeing Vicky. She’s furious. I watch, alarmed, as Colleen stomps over to Vicky. At the last moment she plasters a fake smile on her face and gives Vicky a dainty hug.
Oh, so we’re back to that game, again?
“Brad!” Vicky calls to me, looking terrified as Colleen talks to her about God only knows what.
“Oh! The pretty lady knows you, Uncle
Brad! Let’s go talk to her!” Sarah shouts, pulling me toward a still-stunned Vicky. We walk over and the look of terror fades from Vicky’s face.
“You’re pretty!”
Sarah shouts. Colleen shoots her a dirty look. Is she seriously giving the stink eye to a seven year old?
“Um, thank you,”
Vicky says, smiling at Sarah. “So, Brad,” she says through clenched teeth, “you invited me to this little family party?” I scratch my head and think back. Did I invite her? No, I’m pretty sure I didn’t.
“
Vic!” James shouts and rushes over. A loud burp escapes him and the smell of hot dog and beer fills the immediate area. Damn, that stinks. Vicky snorts at him and gives him a quick hug. “You got my invite!” James is bouncing on his heels, completely oblivious to the glare his sister is shooting him.
“I did,”
Vicky says, “any reason you invited me to a family event, James? Not that I’m not happy to be included,” she clarifies, but it’s obvious that she feels a little nervous about being here. I’m willing to bet that Colleen is most of the reason for that. Colleen gives her brother a questioning look. She, too, wants to know what James was thinking.
“Yeah,
James,” Colleen snaps. At the sound of her voice, Vicky’s head snaps to her and the two women glare at each other. This is ridiculous. I won’t have Colleen ruining this barbeque just because she has to be a complete bitch when Vicky is around. I still haven’t forgiven her for what happened the last time they saw each other. Deciding not to chance another juice throwing incident, I grab Colleen by her elbow and escort her across the yard. Her head spins around to give Vicky a hateful look as I drag her away.
“You need to knock it off,” I growl.
“Or what?” Colleen crosses her arms over her chest and she smirks. I back her up against the fence and place my hands beside her head.
“You listen to me and you listen good,
Frasier—you are going to be nice to Vicky because she’s my friend,” I say through clenched teeth. “You know, friends, like we are. Except that I’m not trying to knock her up. So please, be a little decent toward her, will you?” Colleen scowls at me, her jaw set and her chin in the air. She pokes my chest.
“And you listen to me,
Patrick. I’m a Patrick now, too, so quit calling me Frasier! And as for Barbie Bitch over there, I’ll be nice to her when she stops trying to jump my husband!” I laugh at her defense.
“But I’m your husband in name only, remember? We’re friends, right,
Frasier?” I’m trying to let it go, but I can’t. I’m just her friend.
A stray tear slips down her cheek. She brushes it away just as quickly. Here she goes again trying to make
me feel bad for yelling at her. “Just do me a favor this time, and don’t sleep with her, okay?” I turn around and walk away. Colleen rushes past me into the house, sniffling all the way. I don’t even care. I’m just tired of her attitude.
(Colleen)
Do you want a girl or a boy?
"YOU HAVEN'T PUT
this many hours in since before you got married," Tim says from the door to my office. He lets out a yawn and rubs his eyes.
"Yeah," I respond and sit my pen down. I've been working on a game plan for the upcoming trial for hours now and yet nothing has come of it. I lean back and yawn, which causes
Tim to yawn again. "It's getting late," I say, "You should go home to your wife."
"And you should go home to your husband," he smiles. I clear my throat and check the digital clock on my desk; it reads 9:30 p.m.
Brad will be here any minute.
"Actually," I smile, "he's coming to pick
me up. He should be here soon."
"He's picking you up?"
Tim asks with raised eyebrows.
"He's working on some case that's shot his nerves. He just doesn't want me out at night alone," I nod.
Tim rubs his chin in contemplation; most likely sizing himself up as a husband in comparison. Even when he’s being a shit, no one really compares to Brad.
"Well, one thing's for sure-- he must really love you,"
Tim says, throwing a wink in for good measure.
"You'd think," I mutter under my breath. My cell phone buzzes, signaling a new text message. It's
Brad. He's pulling up to the building. "Well, he's here," I say, standing and collecting my things in my brief case.
"Have a good night,
Colleen," he smiles. I shake my head and laugh at him. For a forty-year-old seasoned attorney, he still busts his ass like when he was a baby lawyer. "You go home and enjoy what's left of your night. I have a few more hours to put in." I nod and brush past him.
"Ah come on,
Tim," I look back and grin. "Daddy owns the firm. Cut yourself some slack." He walks up beside me and thumps my shoulder with the prescription glasses in his hand.
"That is the reason I can't cut myself any slack," he says and walks away. "Go home, kid, your husband's waiting for you." I walk down the hall and get into the elevator, still smiling. It's a relief to have
Tim back from the D.C. office where he had been transferred to on a temporary basis for the last six months. I don't feel so alone here now; stuck with just The Toad and his diaper-wearing imbecile father.
Downstairs in the lobby, the feeling of calm leaves me.
Brad’s truck—which he has unfortunately named Sweetness—is parked in the fire lane right out front and he's gotten out; standing on the other side of the locked doors, waiting for me. Sheesh. I want to run out there and shake him and ask him why he insists on doing this if he thinks of me as just a friend. I can get home without incident. As he so kindly and continuously likes to point out—anyone who kidnaps me is in for an ordeal. He is entirely convinced that my abductor would return me within the hour.
I swipe my I.D. badge to unlock the door, and then walk out. He doesn't smile at me, he just places his hand on my lower back and escorts me to the truck. This is the most contact we'v
e had in over a week.
It's Friday now, and he's come to pick me up all week since I've been putting in fifteen-hour days: getting off usually no earlier than 9 p.m. Monday and Tuesday nights he didn't look at me, either, nor did he place his hand on my back. It was the same with Wednesday, but at least then he opened the door to the truck for me. Thursday night he gave me a sad smile. Tonight, I don't even get that; and I don't even know what I did that was so awful to deserve any of it. All I know is that he's angry with me; but he won't talk about it, and by Tuesday I was ti
red of pressing him to open up.
Brad
normally has no issue telling me what I've done to piss him off, but this silent treatment is faintly reminiscent of The Heather Incident and that scares me. Deep down I had a feeling he would never truly get over that, and maybe he never will.
The whole thing used to make me a little sad. It's been years and he has yet to really move on from it. I used to wish that he could just get over it and we could erase the whole incident from memory. But I get it now. If I saw him with someone else, I'd lose it, too. He really loved
Heather and I messed that up for him.
A tear slips from my eye and I try to wipe it away without notice.
He scoffs. I look over to him and he's shaking his head. "What the fuck are you crying for?" His lack of sympathy or even general regard for my emotional well-being sends me over the edge and I break out in a full cry. "Crap," he grumbles.
"I'm sorry," I say. Since he's barely speaking to me, I decide to take the floor. "I'm so sorry about the whole
Heather thing. I am! I am!" I sob, turning into a blubbering mess. I don’t even know where this is coming from.
"Don't!" he shouts, startling me. "Don't you fucking go there!" He grips the steering wheel tightly, his face reddening. I ignore him and continue. Fighting with
Brad is far better than being ignored by Brad.
"I know I can't take it back and I'm sorry for that! I have no excuse!" I scream. "But at some point you have to forgive me or not. There can't be an in-between anymore."
I cover my face with my hands.
"You?
You!" He barks an angry laugh. "You have no clue how shitty it is to follow you around like a lost fucking puppy, just waiting to be pet and then shoved aside when something else interests you!" My stomach churns at his words. One moment, I feel a little light headed and the next I can feel my dinner making its way up.
"
Stop the car!" I panic as the intensity of my queasiness skyrockets.
"She's not a car,
Colleen," he chastises, not even looking away from the road.
"Stop the damn truck!" I yell, my arms stretched out before me on the da
sh. Still he doesn't look over.
"Why!" he snaps, "for what goddamn r
eason should I stop the truck?"
My line of vision goes fuzzy and I can't make out the road in front of us. I dry heave once and my stomach calms. But the peace doesn't last. I take two deep breaths and then expel
my dinner onto the floorboard.
"Oh,
shit," Brad says, startled. He slowly pulls over and puts the truck in park. "Baby, are you going to get sick again?" he holds my hair back away from my face. His free hand is rubbing my back in the most soothing manner. I shake my head.
"I told you to stop the truck, you imbecile," I groan and wipe my mouth. This is so disgusting.
“I wish I had listened to you. Poor Sweetness,” he says. Sweetness? Poor Sweetness? Seriously? Even the truck gets more sympathy than I do. And only Brad would name his damn truck Sweetness. Really? I kick the floorboard and find myself disgusted when my own throw up sloshes around my shoe. I dry heave again, this time opening the door and into the fresh air.
“
Disgusting,” I hear him mutter from behind me as he holds my hair and tries his best to soothe me, which isn’t saying much. He fishes around and finds a water bottle for me. I gulp its contents down quickly and lean back inside the truck—stupid Sweetness—catching my breath.
“Is it something you ate?” he asks nervously. I shrug my shoulders and close my eyes. It probably is. I haven’t thrown up in years. “Or do you think you could be pregnant already?” I feel one of his hands graze my stomach before he pulls it away quickly. My heart flutters and my cheeks redden at his impulsive
action. I like his hand there. It feels so intimate.
Pregnant?
I think that over for a moment. Is it too soon? It’s probably too soon, I reason. But God, I sure hope so. Another flood of images of rowdy little boys flood my mind and warm my heart. I want to have Brad’s baby.
"How long's it been since, you know, anyway?"
he asks. I brace myself against the dash and shoot an incredulous look his way. Is he really trying to ask how long we've been having sex for? He begins to blush under my stare. Brad. Blush? What? Well, this is new.
"You mean how long we've been bumping uglies for? You mean how long we've been fucking for? You mean--" and he cuts me off.
"Don't be crude, Colleen," he chastises me, a smirk playing on his lips. The hell? Really? He is telling me not to be crude? Oh, for the ever loving-- "and it’s not bumping uglies," he says, interrupting my internal banter. "It's bumping pretties." I roll my eyes.
He starts up the car and rolls down the windows. "Let's go home,
you disgusting thing, you. I don't think my poor truck can take any more of your particular brand of abuse."
"Anyway," I grumble, "I don't know how long it's been. We'
ll have to look at a calendar."
We get home and to my surprise,
Brad comes around to my side in a flash and opens up my door. He offers his hand, which I happily accept, and he helps me out. We walk in and I leave my disgusting shoes just outside the door, and rush up to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
"So, should I go buy one of those things?"
Brad asks, sneaking into the bathroom behind me. Despite having brushed my teeth, I can still smell the puke on me so I decide to shower. I undress in front of Brad. I notice he's paying attention to my now naked body as opposed to my face. I take a small bit of pride in the fact that I can cause a physical reaction out of him, judging by Mac's suddenly obvious presence.
"Would you?" I ask. He nods, his eyes focusing on my bare breasts. I'm still on the fence about whether or not I think he thinks of me just as a friend; so I do what any red-blooded woman would do, I try to seduce him to find out. My right hand finds its way to my right breast and begins to gently rub my nipple.
Brad gulps, his eyes never leaving my chest. In a not-so-genius move on my part, I try to roll my nipple between my fingers but my nail gets in the way and before I know it, a biting pain shoot through my nipple and I swear on all that is Holy, I think I'm having a heart attack.
"What the hell are you trying to do!"
Brad shouts, rushing toward me. The tears flow freely down my face.
"Trying to seduce you!" I cry, unabashedly. His body shakes with laughter but he's carefu
l to keep as quiet as possible.
"You don't have to
try, pretty girl," he whispers as he gently massages my battered nipple. He kisses my forehead and smiles. God only knows what the hell he's smiling about.
"I'm going to take a bath," I say with a sigh.
I feel better under his touch.
"And I'll go pick
up that thingamajig," he grins.
"Hey, pretty boy," I say as he walks away.
He looks back, still grinning.
"What's up, pretty girl?"
"Do you want a boy or a girl?" I ask. His entire face lights up.
"What do y
ou want?"
"On three," I say and he nods.
"Boy," we say in unison. And we're both standing there like love-struck fools. At least I hope we are. I know I am.
"Don't you ever tell
James this, but I'm really glad I had a big brother," I admit sheepishly. He laughs and walks back over to me.
"As the middle child, and only boy; I can promise you that having an older sister sucks," he admits. Now I'm laughing along with him. "But really," he says, his voice softening, "a little girl like you would be pretty cool." I sniffle at his words, tears threatening to spill; and I'm really damn sure now that I'm not just his best friend.