Sisterchicks on the Loose (30 page)

“That’s what I heard, too.” My voice sounded surprisingly steady.

Darren stepped into our bathroom and proceeded to caulk the shower.

“Hope, can you come here and tell me if this looks straight to you?”

I didn’t need to go in there to see if his caulking line was straight. Darren’s repairs were never straight. But they always worked. That’s all that mattered to me.

“Looks good.” I tilted my head ever so slightly so that the line along the base of the shower honestly did appear straight.

He glanced up from his kneeling position. With a tender pat on my belly, he said, “And you look good to me.”

“Bahwaaaaah!” I burst into tears all over again.

“What’s wrong? What did I say?” Darren was on his feet, trying to wrap both arms around me and draw me close. “Why are you crying?”

“How can I possibly look good to you? I’m pregnant! I’m really, really pregnant!”

“Of course you are. Why are you crying?”

“Because I’m going to Hawaii!”

“Yes, you’re going to Hawaii. Come on now, pull yourself together.”

I kept crying.

Darren looked frantic. He stepped back and, fumbling for his roguish smirk, said, “So, is this a hormone thing?”

“No, it’s not a hormone thing! I’m old, Darren! I’m old and pregnant, and I’m going to Hawaii. Can you understand how that makes me feel?”

He couldn’t.

How could I possibly expect my husband to understand all the bizarre things that happen to a woman in spirit and flesh when a friendly alien takes over her body? He still couldn’t figure out why Laurie and I wanted to fly all the way to Hawaii just to spend a week lounging around a pool, comparing underarm flab, when we could stay home and have the same conversation over the phone for a lot less money.

I took a deep breath. “You know what? I don’t care what anyone says. These screaming purple stretch marks running up my biscuit-dough thighs are stripes of honor.”

“Exactly.”

“I earned every one of those zingers!”

“Of course you did, honey.”

“I am a Mother, with a capital
M
.”

“Never doubted it for a moment.”

“And everyone knows that aqua is the perfect motherhood color, even in the tropics.”

“Especially in the tropics.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

What my husband had just observed was a 95 percent hormone-induced solar flare. But there was no way on this blue earth that I would reveal that scientific secret to him.

I concluded my little skit by clearing my throat and saying, “I think your caulking looks good. Very nice.”

“Thanks. And I meant what I said. You look good to me, too.”

“Thank you.” I turned with my chin raised in valor and tried to glide gracefully out of the bathroom, my beach-ball belly exiting a full half a second before the rest of me.

Reaching for the much-debated swimsuit, I rolled it up and tucked it into the corner of my suitcase. Over my shoulder I could feel the mirror maven working up a good sass-and-slash comment. Before she had a chance to deliver it, I turned to face her full on. “Let’s see now. One of us is stuck to piece of particle-board, and one of us is leaving for Hawaii on Wednesday. Any guesses as to which one you are?”

She didn’t say a word. She knew her place. And I was about to find mine.