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“Maybe we should carry her?” Caroline said to her mother-in-law.
They stopped at the edge of the patio and the three women eyed the very pregnant brunette.
“I’m not sure we can lift her,” Jena said.
“I hate every single of one of you,” Abby said.
“Would it make you feel better if you knew I also had the gardeners move the bench behind the plants so we can sit down?” Caroline said.
“Marginally.” Abby waddled up the steps and onto the patio. “Come on. If we don’t hurry, the men will come into the conservatory and see us. Then they’ll know we aren’t on a girls’ night out.” And then she moved slower than a snail. “Although, as girls’ nights out go, this one sucks.”
“Trust me,” Caroline told her. “It will get better.”
Abby just muttered something under her breath about making everyone suffer if it didn’t.
“How can you walk so silently in those shoes?” Helen eyed Jena’s ten-inch platform sandals. This pair was sparkly pink with diamanté detailing on the ankle straps.
“I could run up a mountain in these,” Jena whispered. “Sometimes I wear them to work. If I’m plastering a wall or something that makes being taller handy, the height really comes in useful. I just cover them with plastic wrap to them to stop them getting dirty.”
Helen stumbled, and Caroline shot out a hand to steady her. “You do construction work in those shoes?”
Jena tossed her long honey-colored hair over her shoulder and nodded. “I like wearing them with my Daisy Dukes and a tartan shirt tied tight under my boobs. It’s comfortable and practical.”
“And looks like some guy’s idea of a porn plot—stripper does DIY,” Abby grumbled.
Jena patted her best friend’s back and gave her a compassionate smile. “Pregnancy really brings out your evil side, doesn’t it?”
“I know!” Abby’s eyes filled with tears. “I feel like I’m possessed by the spirit of Betty.”
“I think she’d have to die first for that to happen,” Jena said.
“Can we focus?” Caroline said. “We need to hurry up, or they’ll spot us.” She grabbed Abby’s arm. “You get the other one,” she said to Jena.
And with that, they half-dragged Abby to the bench.
“This is what I miss most when we’re back in Atlantic City,” Helen said. “Our girls’ nights out back home usually involve getting the early bird at the local diner.” She shook her head in disgust. “Those women don’t know how to live.”
“And we do?” Abby said. “We’re sitting on a cold wooden bench, behind a bunch of potted trees, waiting to spy on our husbands.”
“Honey,” Helen drawled, “trust me when I say, if you’d ever eaten the early bird at Jack’s Diner, you’d know you were living it up right now.”
“Jack’s Diner?” Jena said. “I used to eat there after the clubs closed. Their food’s fine if you don’t go early evening. They don’t salt the early bird special on account of all the old people with heart problems. It’s like eating cardboard.”
“See?” Helen pointed at Jena.
The women were just getting settled when the men appeared in the kitchen beyond the conservatory.
“They’re getting snacks,” Helen said. “We should have brought snacks.”
“Which reminds me,” Jena whispered as she opened her oversized leather handbag and pulled out a bottle of wine. “Cheers,” she said with a grin. She unscrewed the cap and took a gulp before handing the bottle to Helen.
Helen stared at it for a moment, shrugged then had a drink too.
“What about me?” Abby whined. “I can’t drink. And neither can Caroline. Not that she usually drinks, but we shouldn’t miss out just because our dumbass husbands knocked us up.”
Jena reached back into her bag and came out with two small tubs of Belgian chocolate ice cream and two spoons. “It’s a bit soft,” she said as she handed one each to Caroline and Abby.
“You carry ice cream in your handbag?” Helen whispered in awe.
