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I scoot closer and tuck her into my side, giving her a quick hug. “Okay, now you need to get ready so we can go make that banana bread, because I’m starving.”
* * *
“Hey, buddy,” I say into the phone.
“Hey, Addi,” Drake responds. “How are you?”
Sharp pain radiates through my hips as I waddle into the kitchen, where Chase is making dinner. I’m surprised this child hasn’t already fallen out of me with how low he’s been hanging. I smooth my hand over Willow’s long braid as I walk by her, perched at the dining room table as she does her math homework.
“You mean other than feeling like an alien invaded my body and is holding my bladder hostage?”
I grab a cup from the cabinet and fill it with water, wishing instead that it was a big glass of merlot. It’d probably do a hell of a lot better than the Tylenol that doesn’t even come close to making a dent in the pain. My sides have literally been splitting apart at the growth and expansion of my hips and stomach. Angry, red stretch marks litter their surface despite me doing everything the internet has instructed in order to prevent them.
“Yikes, forget I even asked.” His words are garbled, like he’s speaking with his mouth full of food. I pause my walk back into the living room, saliva pooling in my mouth, and my stomach grumbling in complaint.
“Oh my god,” I moan. “What are you eating?”
“A burger.”
I hear him take another bite as he chews loudly into the phone. I’m so hungry that his rude smacking doesn’t even bother me. Instead, I plop down on the couch and close my eyes, fantasizing about a big juicy burger with bacon, and a huge plate of fries.
“Uh-huh,” I say. I fluff up a couch pillow and try to get comfortable on it, but it just feels like a big boulder against my back. “Describe it to me.”
“Ma’am, I think you have the wrong number. This isn’t some food-sex hotline. I’m a gentleman.”
I gasp before cracking up. “Food-sex hotline? Is that even a thing?”
“How would I know? I don’t need to pay for female attention, Addison. Why are you fantasizing over a burger anyway? Tell Chase to go get you one.”
“Chase,” I yell. “Drake said you need to go get me a burger.”
“You tell that fucker—”
“Oh my gosh, Dad, language!” Willow screeches at Chase before he can even finish.
“Sorry,” Chase mutters.
“No burger for me,” I say sadly. “He’s making chicken tacos.”
“Well, that sounds pretty damn good actually.”
“I’m excited,” I say with all the enthusiasm as a little kid on Christmas morning. “Any-who, I was calling to ask a favor of you, which is actually a favor to you as well, so it’s a win-win.”
“I’m listening.”
“I need you to go to LA for me,” I say.
“Done,” he says instantly.
“Done?” I laugh. “But you don’t even know what it’s for.”
“Doesn’t matter. Olivia’s there, right?”
“I was hoping you would say that.” I grin. “Her CMF fundraiser is in two weeks, and I thought I’d be good to go, but apparently, you can’t fly after you’re thirty-six weeks pregnant. Which is ridiculous because there’s no way this baby is coming anytime soon. But my doctor still won’t clear me.”
“Does she know I’ll be coming?” Drake asks. “Olivia, not your doctor.”
“My doctor’s a dude,” I retort. “And no, not yet. I was thinking you could surprise her.”
“I like where your head’s at. Text me the info.”
