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Chapter One
Maggie
Any woman who tells you that being six months pregnant is anything but misery is either a masochist or a liar. I hated how I looked, how I felt, had constant heartburn and gas and the mood swings were a complete pain in the ass. And I wasn’t the only one suffering.
“Mom, what’s for dinner?” Kenny shook my shoulder.
I opened one eye and glared at him over the mound of my, oh so enormous belly. “I just got to sleep, Sport.”
“It’s the middle of the afternoon.” Kenny pointed to the sun streaming in through the open bedroom window. Even though it was barely forty degrees out, I could not stop sweating. I’d just waddled out of the shower not even ten minutes before, thrown open the window, and my clothes were still soaked.
“I know it’s the middle of the afternoon but I can’t sleep at night.” This phenomenon was uniquely me. Somehow pregnancy had made me nocturnal, not a great habit when you have two children already and Christmas is right around the corner. Along with Atlas, my faithful but dopey dog, I prowled the house at all hours looking for something to stuff in my face like a carb-seeking vampire.
All in all, good times.
Kenny poked me again, obviously not giving up. “But I’m hungry. And Sylvia’s in the living room.”
I groaned and pulled a pillow over my head. It instantly stuck to my sweaty face and I had to peel the fabric loose. “I told you not to let her in.”
He leaped onto the bed next to me, the action bouncing me up and down. “I thought you were kidding. What can I eat?”
I blew out a sigh. “Check the pantry, there should be some popcorn left.”
He shook his head. “Josh finished it last night.”
Little freaking locusts. If I had to go to Walmart in my current state a week before
Christmas, there would be bodies. A whole monkey butt-ton of them. “Okay, have some fruit then. I’ll make some pasta in a little bit.”
“Again?” he whined.
“Again,” I acknowledged. “And tell Sylvia I’ll be out in a minute.”
Six months ago, I would’ve welcomed a visit from my next-door neighbor. But we’d had a bit of a falling out over the summer. It didn’t help that Sylvia Wright had taken to pregnancy like a duck to water, whereas I had about as much use for it as a fish had for a bicycle. Seeing her glow with her pregnant princess radiance only made me crabby. My cell phone was on the nightstand and I decided it was time to dial a lifeline, AKA my husband, Neil.
He picked up in the middle of the first ring. “What’s up, Uncle Scrooge? Did Atlas get his head wedged in the fence again?”
“No,” I said, though he had earlier. Big stupid creature. “Sylvia’s here.”
There was a pause. “And?”
I made a disgusted noise. “And I’m too gross to see her right now, okay? The house is a mess, the kids are on holiday break and can’t find anything to do. They want to eat multiple times a day.”
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