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Fortunately, my boyfriend is more than accommodating. He’ll grind up cheese doodles for every meal and sprinkle them liberally on my food, even if Mason’s handsome expression is one of horror as he does so. Still, Mason does whatever keeps me happy, and the truth is that this man makes mesohappy.
“Here you go, sweetheart. Last piece,” Mason growls as he feeds me a final chunk of pineapple. “Thank God because I think the pineapple juice was starting to attract ants,” he kicks his leg a few times, staring balefully at an ant that fell out of his sock.
I giggle as I watch him stare daggers at the small insect. Who knew such a tiny bug could get under a big man’s skin? But that’s just the way my boyfriend is. He’s not much of an outdoors person, and probably never will be.
Still, I’m glad to be in the garden today. It’s sunny, with just a few clouds drifting in the blue sky, and we’re seated under a big magnolia tree in the corner. Bees buzz merrily over nearby rosebushes, and I swear, I even saw a hummingbird by the daffodils.
But then, my eyes slide to the cottage and I frown. It’s empty now because my mom moved out. It was for the best. Elsa couldn’t stay there any longer after that stunt she pulled. I mean, really? Stripping nude and sucking on her tits in front of us? That’s gross, not to mention crazy.
So yes, Mason helped her find a new apartment in Manhattan. At first, I wasn’t sure how this was going to work, seeing that rents in the city are high. But my boyfriend’s helping her with her bills every month. He said he’d do anything to get Elsa out of our hair, and I have to agree. Throwing money at this problem is the right thing to do, especially since I’m closer than ever to delivering.
As a result, Elsa’s out of our lives now. Not completely, of course. She’s still my mother, so I’ll talk with her once in a while on the phone, but like all things Elsa, she never acknowledges what happened. Instead, it’s just fluffy gossip about her comings and goings, and the men she’s flirting with now that she’s healthy. I don’t think she’s even doing shrooms anymore. Instead, she’s graduated to ketamine IVs. Don’t even ask, because it’s bad. But what can I do? Elsa is an adult woman intent on enjoying her life after a long bout of sickness and if she’s hooking up and doing drugs, realistically, there’s no way to stop her.
“Are you thinking about your mom again?” Mason growls, taking my small hand in his big one.
I sigh, nodding slightly. “Yeah. I don’t want to be around her while she’s going buck wild with her shenanigans. But she can’t be around me or the baby while she’s doing ketamine. I mean, it’s just too crazy.”
My boyfriend’s handsome features darken.
“Absolutely not,” he rasps. “Not when you’re pregnant, and definitely not after the baby’s born.”
“Can you believe that stuff is legal if you have a license in NYC?”
He shakes his head.
“No. It’s crazy what goes on in the city, but it’s not our problem. We need to focus on the child.”
“Of course,” I sigh. “I just don’t want Elsa to spiral out of control because I’m her only child, you know,” I say with a rueful glance.
He nods that dark head, blue eyes glinting.
“I know, but –”
At that moment, a familiar voice interrupts our conversation.
“Chelsea! Hey girl, how are you?”
I smile as I see my good friend, Tracy, unlatching the gate to the garden. She’s cute, with curly brown hair, big brown eyes, and a small, but definitely pregnant, tummy. I actually met Tracy a few months ago at a parenting class, and the two of us hit it off immediately.
“Hey, come on in,” I grin. “Thanks for swinging by.”
She nods happily, while approaching the table.
“Thankyou,” she giggles before waggling her fingers at Mason. “Hi, you must be the baby’s dad.”
“That I am,” he growls, getting up to give her his seat. “Mason Richards. Welcome to our home.”
But Tracy doesn’t sit. Instead, she merely hands a gaily decorated bag to me.
“Actually, I can’t stay,” she burbles. “I just came to give you this,” she says. “You’d think that with me living in the same neighborhood, we’d be able to see each other more, but I’ve beenreallybusy lately,” she says with a wink.
I giggle.
“No worries,” I say. “You sure you don’t want a lemonade at least?”
She shakes her head.
“I have to get going again because you know, errands and all, but I hope you like your gift. I’ll see you soon, okay?” she twitters before turning to look at Mason. “Take good care of my girl, you hear? We pregnant ladies have to stick together.”
