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Pineapples. Strawberries. Sliced honey-roasted turkey. Orange juice. Apple juice. And a plethora of things that would make her mornings a bit smoother as she made her way out of the door. Upon finishing, I tossed the empty bags in the trash and carried the last one into the living room with me, where I found Nature engrossed in television while cleaning the meat from the bones of her chicken wings.
Her legs stretched across the empty space, resting on the table. The swelling I’d suspected was now in plain view, making the items in my bag feel a bit more useful that I’d initially imagined. Sneakers concealed the condition of her feet, but from a quick glance at her ankles as we stood outside of her office, I had an idea of what was inside of them.
In an instant, her feet were in my hands and the moisturizer I’d pulled from the bag coated them both.
“What are you doing?”
Her mouth was stuffed with something other than my dick, drawing jealousy from my frame that I casually concealed.
“Eat, Nay.”
“The fact that you have my feet between your fingers makes that a bit challenging.”
“Figure it out. You’re a smart girl.”
Shrugging, she dropped the conversation altogether and continued brutalizing the box that she had all to herself. The combination of flavors was beneficial. From the looks of it, she didn’t have a favorite. She’d had at least one BBQ wing, one buffalo wing, one lemon pepper wing, and one sweet chili wing.
“How long have they been swollen?” I questioned, growing concerned with her condition. I applied pressure as I worked my way up and down them.
“Yesterday,” she moaned.
“Maybe we should hit up Marcie.”
“I’ve ran the tests, Milo. It’s not preeclampsia. It’s nothing more than the load I’m carrying, causing my frame to try its best to adjust. I’m fine. I promise.”
“You sure, Nay?”
I pulled each of her toes until I heard them pop.
“Yes. I promise.”
“Do they hurt?”
“No, but my back does,” she admitted, setting the box on the table beside her.
She cleaned her fingers with one of the wet wipes provided.
“Lay on your side. A massage will help alleviate some of that pain.”
I tried rising from the couch but was stopped in the process.
“Un, un. Stay right where you are. We don’t want any confusion. Back massages lead to internal massages.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I chuckled, tilting my head.
“They lead to brain fog and a lot of confusion. Stay right there and keep going. That feels good.”
“You petty for that shit, but aight.”
Sniggering, she shrugged. “You can’t blame anyone but yourself, Milo.”
Nodding, I agreed. I was the reason I was in the doghouse where I’d remain until Nature decided to free me. Unfortunately, I’d done time in that motherfucker before and knew she was never in a rush to open those gates.
“I bought compression garments that will cover your feet and ankles.”
“Thank you. I planned to stop by the store to grab some tomorrow.”
“Now you don’t have to.”
