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And then when he saw I was only peeing, his eyes widened.
I grinned, “Honey, I know we’ve crossed that line, and once the baby gets here, you’re going to see a lot more of me. But do you think I can pee in private?”
“How the hell do you have any room in there for all that?” He gaped.
Yes, I was still peeing.
I sighed, “I don’t know.”
“Well, according to the book I bought, he or she is now the size of an eggplant.” I was still peeing and growling at him.
“Honey, thank you for that knowledge, but let me pee in private, please?” I asked him.
As if he heard me but didn’t hear me, he continued on, “Okay, and while you were sleeping in, I was going over colors for the nursery again.”
Smiling, but really wanting to pee in private because once the baby gets here, my peeing in private is done for until he or she is at least five or six years old, “Honey. Out.”
“Okay,” He nodded, then moved to the door, but stopped, then turned around and said, “We really need to discuss the birth plan. I’m fine with…”
He didn’t finish his words because I grabbed one of the magazines he uses for reading material in the bathroom when he blows a hole through the toilet and then lobbed it at his head, “Get. The. Hell. Out.”
He grunted and then sighed, “Angel, stress isn’t good for the baby. You need to breathe…”
And that was when sane and rational Savannah Marie Calder left the proverbial building, and Nuclear Savannah Marie Calder came out to play.
“If you don’t get out of this fucking bathroom by the time I count to three, not only am I sleeping in another room until this baby is out of me, I will also be making my own self come, and using that as getting my stress down. And if you open your mouth one more fucking time, I will start screaming this house down and then throwing everything I can get my hands on at your head. There are only two words I expect to fall out of your mouth by the time I count to three and they areyes, ma’am. Is that fucking clear?”
He stared at me and then asked, “Savannah, what’s gotten into you?”
He. Did. Not. Just. Say. That.
I felt my jaw get tight, “Excuse me?”
Now, when a woman says excuse me to something you said, you really should shut up.
But, when a pregnant woman says excuse me, you need to tuck your chin to your chest, and run like fucking hell with your tail tucked between your legs.
“I said, what’s gotten into you? Where’s my sweet Savannah at?”
I finished peeing, not saying a word, wiped, pulled my pajama shorts up my legs, and then shuffled to the bathroom counter.
And when my hand landed on my wrapped-up hair dryer, I didn’t hesitate to throw it at his head.
And I went like that until everything was off the bathroom counter and he was no longer in the bathroom.
Meanwhile, at the back sliding glass door, a man stood, pissed off at himself, red marks covering his skin, and all of them given to him by the one woman he swore he would never hurt, and the one woman that brought light to his gray world.
“What the fuck just inhabited my woman? Jesus Mackenzie. This shit isn’t normal.”
“Zeke, what made her do that? Yes, her hormones are out of whack, but this is Savannah we’re talking about. It takes a lot for her to lose her temper. So what happened?”
I wanted to lie. Oh how I wanted to lie. But damnit. I wasn’t that man. “She asked me to get out of the bathroom so she could pee.”
“And did you listen? Or did you let it go in one ear and out the other and she asked you a second time?”
I bit my lip, and then answered her, “I think she asked me four or five times.”
Mackenzie’s intake of breath let me know I really fucked up.
