“Darla.”
She turned to me, eyes sharp.
“It meant something.”
“It did.” She blew out a puff of frustrated breath, lifting a piece of hair on her forehead. “Thank you. That orgasm really helped.”
“Mmm,” I said tightly.
One eyebrow arched. “What's wrong?”
“Wrong?”
“You don't make that mmm sound. That's not you.”
“I'm fine.”
“Shit, Trevor, now you sound like me.” She eyed me sideways. “You're not jealous of Davey, are you?”
“Are you kidding?”
“Well? Then what?”
“I didn't get off.”
“Huh?”
“I didn't come.”
“You didn't – ”
“I.Did.Not.Orgasm.”
“Why not?” She gasped a little. “Is this like Joe, when he could only come from anal? Because, oh, honey, it's normal and – ”
Bzzzz.
Both our phones buzzed at the same time. Had to be Joe.
Darla picked hers up, swiped, and read.
Mom and Gene got a great home health nurse for Dad and are insisting I fly to be with you. Arriving at Pittsburgh airport on a 9:12am flight. Need someone to pick me up.
She lit up. “Awesome!”
A part inside my chest loosened. Being the only guy out here to deal with a weird family event like this was going to be hard.
Now it would be less hard.
Unlike my cock.
“Will get you at the airport. Love you!” she muttered aloud, clearly speaking what she was typing. She turned to me. “We gotta change course. Head to Pittsburgh.”
“We’re really close to Peters, though.”
She looked at the time and yawned. “I know. But he’ll be at the airport soon. Think you can make it?”
I winced, shifting in my seat, as my balls decided to pretend I was playing the lead role in The Princess and the Pea except my balls were the princess and any surface on the planet was the pea.
“You really didn't come?”
“No.”
“You okay?”
“No. This sucks.”
“Welcome to womanhood, Trevor.”
“It's only because I love you that I don't dump you out on the side of the road, Darla.”
“Naw. There are other good reasons.”
“Like what?”
“Like I'm really good at hand jobs. Pull over.”
Women. Can't live with them, can't successfully boink them at rest areas.
But man, is she worth the bother.
Chapter 3
Joe
Every time we come to Peters, Ohio, I am reminded that the multiverse theory in quantum physics must be true.
And I think we just blipped, like a record needle skipping to a new groove. Same song, different line, new location.
The last twenty-four hours have been an emotional and logistical blur for me, staying back in Boston to help with my dad's surgery, Mom and Gene insisting they could take care of Dad so I could join Darla and Trevor in Ohio, and the push-pull to two distinctly sucky options drove me mad.
Stay home and nurse Dad?
Or
Go to rural Ohio and meet my new... brother-in-law?
Or... was he?
We weren't married. The baby was nearly thirty years younger than me. And I have no legal connection to Darla, so he's – what?
What, exactly, is this baby to me?
Unfortunately, I had a three-hour plane ride to ponder all the possibilities, and four mini bottles of vodka later (thank God for first-class upgrades), I'd come to one simple conclusion:
Vodka and flights don't mix well.
How in the hell did our regular life become so upended with a single phone call? And what forty-nine year old woman who hasn't had a child since George H.W. Bush was president gets pregnant, doesn't know it, and turns into a stereotype of a Discovery Channel special?
Who carries a baby to term for nine months and doesn't know it?
People from Peters, Ohio. That's who.
Ring!
“Where are you?” I growled into the phone, head starting to throb. I walked into a bookstand at the airport, phone pressed to my ear, and I found an enormous bottle of electrolyte water that cost as much as a quarter bag of shake.
“Circling at ride share pickup. How close are you?” Trevor asked evenly.
Sliding my chip card into the reader, I ignored the clerk, who looked about as bored as I felt.
“Getting water. Be out there in a sec.”
By the time I hit the double glass doors to the rideshare area, I'd guzzled half the bottle of cold water, fought a brain freeze, and was squinting into the sun. Trevor's car felt out of place here, like it belonged in Massachusetts and was a refugee.
Darla was in the backseat, so I shoved my carryon in the front and climbed in next to her. Her kiss was dry and sweet, but I was grouchy.
“How's the baby?” I asked.
“Don't know yet. Haven't seen him.”
“Huh?”
“We'll go straight there. Visiting hours are at ten, and it's an hour drive.”
“Oh.” For some reason, I'd assumed Darla would meet her little brother first, so that there wouldn't be the emotional intensity of the moment by the time I arrived.
So much for that.
Great. We were on our way to an emotionally-loaded moment in small-town Ohio in a hospital setting where Darla's mother just jackhammered a surprise baby out her crotch and I was supposed to be supportive.
Even on my best day, this wasn't in my wheelhouse.
Ring!
Darla looked at her phone. The words Mama Made Me Do It were displayed on screen.
“Hello? Yeah? Okay. Good. Awwwww. How's little Calvin, Junior doing?”
At least now I didn't have to ask his name. How original. Thank God my parents didn't do the whole “junior” thing with me, because Herbert as a name is just begging to get the shit kicked out of you in school.
“And Mama? Her sugars are fine? No major problems?” She paused. “Anemia? Huh. No, never knew that before. But she's okay? Good. We're on our way. Just got Joe and we'll be there right before eleven.”
I looked at the car clock. 9:45 a.m.
“Trev?”
“Huh?”
“Can we swing by a drive-thru?” My stomach growled. “I'm starving.”
“Sure. There's more here around Pittsburgh than near Peters. What do you want?”
I named the least offensive fast food place I could think of. He used voice commands to get his phone to find one.
“Give the baby and Mama a kiss for me. Thanks. Uh huh. Uh huh. Yup. Bye.” Darla ended the call and gave me a long, slow sigh.
“I can't believe I have a baby brother.”
Trevor barked out a laugh. “You've said that ninety-six times.”
“You counting?” I asked, hating their easy banter. When we were all first together, I had to live apart from them while I went to law school in Philadelphia, and I still haven't gotten over the feeling of being the odd man out.
I sniffed fast and hard, leftover allergies a major culprit, but what I detected in the air just made me feel more excluded.