Baking and Babies
Page 10

 
“Deep breaths, it’s going to be fine,” Marco reassures me as he pockets his keys. “I’m going to be right here the whole time. You’re going to do great, they’re going to believe every word you say, and they’re going to surprise you by being happy and supportive and making this a hell of a lot easier on you.”
 
I do what he says and take a few deep, calming breaths. I just need to keep my eye on the prize. A whole new set of baking utensils, a KitchenAid mixer, and ten percent of Charlotte and Gavin’s wedding money. That will be more than enough for a deposit on my own apartment so I can move out of my parent’s home and finally have some privacy. Privacy that will hopefully include a lot of naked time with the man next to me, as long as he hasn’t changed his name and fled the country after dealing with my insane family for the next few weeks.
 
“And if things start to heat up, I’ll just tell them about my incredibly huge penis, and how I’m without a doubt decent, dependable, desirable, daring and delicious,” he says with a smile, leaning across the console to give me a quick peck on the cheek.
 
He’s out of the car and around to my side, holding my door open for me before I can do something stupid like cradle my cheek in my hand and vow to never wash it again after he kissed it.
 
“Didn’t I tell you to stop doing stuff like that?” I growl, pretending like I’m annoyed instead of two seconds away from asking him to take his pants off on the front lawn.
 
“Well, stop having such a kissable cheek then,” he replies easily.
 
Marco continues to tell me how everything will be fine as we make our way up the sidewalk and onto the porch. I start to feel a bit more confident until I open the front door. The quiet peacefulness of the neighborhood outside is immediately ruined as we step into the foyer and the sounds of screaming, arguing, and cursing coming from the living room explode through the house.
 
“What in the hell?” I murmur as I start to move down the hall to the direction of the noise, the sound of Marco’s shoes on the hardwood echoing behind me as he quietly follows.
 
When we’re a few feet from the living room and the noise has reached ear-piercing level, Charlotte suddenly flies out of the room and around the corner, sliding across the floor in her stocking feet and quickly latching onto my arms to stop herself from slamming into me.
 
“What is going on in there?” I ask her when I can finally make out one of the shouting voices and it’s my mother’s, who just told someone to “Shut the fuck up before I fucking make you shut the fucking fuck up, you fucking fuck!”
 
Not her cleverest of curses, but certainly not one I haven’t heard before.
 
“What are you doing here?” Charlotte whispers frantically. “I sent you a text! Didn’t you get my text?!”
 
The shouting in the other room goes back to blending all together into one big noise as I pull my phone out of my back pocket and see I did indeed miss a text from Charlotte.
 
“Sorry, we were talking on the ride over and I missed it. Oh my gosh, wait until I tell you about the douchebag who—” I stop mid sentence when I open up the missed text and see what has Charlotte in such a panic and World War III happening in our living room.
 
THEY KNOW! OMG THEY KNOW! TXT ME ASAP!
 
I look up at Charlotte in sympathy and awkwardly pat her shoulder. “I’m sorry. Obviously the adults aren’t taking it very well, but what did Gavin say? Are you guys okay?”
 
She winces and shakes her head back and forth. “No! They know about YOU, not about me!”
 
“Would you guys just shut the hell up so I can think? Drew, go get my gun. And the brass knuckles. Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t look at me like that. A coffee cup with brass knuckles as the handle does too count as actual brass knuckles, so you can fuck right off.”
 
My dad’s voice is loud and clear over everyone else’s this time, and I hear Marco whimper softly behind me. I wish I had time to remind him again that my dad’s bark is usually worse than his bite, but I have more pressing concerns right now.
 
“What do you mean they know? How in the hell did they find out?” I whisper-shout as Charlotte suddenly realizes Marco is standing behind me.
 
Her eyes widen and she not-so-subtly jerks her head in his direction before moving her face closer to mine.
 
“Oes-day e-hay now-kay?” she mumbles, still shooting worried glances over my shoulder.
 
“Does he know?” Marco asks in confusion. “Does who know what?”
 
Charlotte gasps. “He knew what I said!”
 
“You spoke in Pig Latin, Charlotte,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “That’s not exactly a foreign language no one understands. And yes, he knows everything.”
 
She clutches my upper arms tightly, jerking my body with each of her words. “Why would you tell him?! Before you know it, the whole world will know!”
 
“I am not afraid to smack a pregnant chick, so let go of my arms,” I threaten through my gritted teeth, shrugging out of her tight hold on me. “In case you’re forgetting, this is my life too, and I will tell whomever I want, especially the guy agreeing to be your baby’s fake baby daddy that I’m now pretending to carry.”
 
Can this get anymore confusing???
 
“Can we get back to a more pressing matter right now?” I continue once Charlotte has the decency to look sorry for being an asshole to someone going through a hell of a lot of trouble to help save her marriage. “How did mom and dad find out already?”
 
Charlotte winces and shrugs.
 
“I told Gavin not to say anything, but I guess he mentioned it to Tyler, and you know Tyler can’t keep his mouth shut so he told Ava and she called mom and dad, thinking they already knew!” Charlotte quickly spits the words out in one breath. “But hey, look at it this way, at least you don’t have to come right out and tell them, and that’s the worst part!”
 
A bright smile lights up her face, and if she wasn’t pregnant, I’d punch her right in the ovaries.
 
“Really, Charlotte? THAT’S the worst part?” I scoff. “Do you even hear the shit coming out of that room right now?”
 
“I don’t care if it’s been a while and I am NOT too old for Fight Club,” my mother yells at someone. “Claire, get over here and punch me in the stomach so I can get warmed up for that asshole responsible for this shit.”
 
My eyes widen in fear. I’ve heard stories about my mom and Aunt Claire’s Fight Club and it isn’t pretty. Forget having Marco fear my dad’s gun, he really needs to fear my mother’s fists.
 
“It will be fine once you get in there and tell them everything,” Charlotte reassures me. “They still think you got pregnant by a loser who walked away. I tried explaining how that was a misunderstanding, but they won’t stop screaming long enough to listen to me.”
 
Charlotte looks over my shoulder and smiles. “Besides, I’m sure as soon as they meet Marco and see how sweet and nice he is, they’ll forget all about wanting to kill him.”
 
Marco puts his hands on my hips and his face next to my ear, the heat from his body against my back making my brain short-circuit.
 
“So, I’m rethinking that whole talk-about-my-huge-penis idea, and I’ve decided crying might be the best way to go,” he informs me. “They wouldn’t hit a guy who’s crying, right?”
 
Sounds of a scuffle and something falling off a table and thumping to the floor comes from the living room.
 
“Are you CRYING? There’s no crying in Fight Club!” my mother yells.
 
“That HURT, you dick-nose slut-box! I HAD CANCER!” Aunt Claire responds.
 
“Oh, fuck right off! You HAD cancer, you don’t have it anymore and you should be able to take a punch, you pussy!” my mother shouts back.
 
Marco gasps and his hands fall from my hips. “Jesus Christ. They hit people with cancer? I’m a dead man.”
 
He starts pacing nervously behind me and I ignore him, strapping on the set of balls I’m going to need to make it through this without killing my sister.