White Lilies (A Mitchell Sisters Novel) (6 page)

An hour later, when I emerge from my bedroom, the bike is set up and the packaging, along with Griffin Pearce, is missing from my apartment.

chapter five

Mindy watches in fascination as I inhale the greasy cheeseburger and chocolate milkshake she placed in front of me mere seconds ago. Her eyes go wide, presumably in wonderment as to how one small woman can annihilate a meal so large it would give a man pause.

I don’t care. I’m freaking starving. Now that my morning sickness has waned, I crave meat. Lots of it. I have it all the time. My arteries are starting to beg for mercy.

Thanks to the stationary bike Erin and Griffin got me, I’m keeping the pounds off despite my newfound obsession with animal flesh, and I’ve only gained two in twelve weeks.

Twelve weeks is apparently cause for celebration, according to Erin, who has been more like her old self the past few days. She said this is when you can breathe easily and start telling people about the pregnancy. She’s on her way to the restaurant to take me shopping for maternity clothes during our Saturday afternoon lull. Not that I need them. In fact, my skinny jeans are only now beginning to feel snug. I mean, there’s still not much to the little bean. Erin says it’s only two inches long, about the size of a lime. But she has insisted we start shopping now so when the time comes, I’ll be stylish and chic. Two words I’ve never associated with pregnancy, but whatever.

Coming from the bathroom after washing up, I see Erin walking through the restaurant. She’s holding two flowers. A red rose and some white flower. It’s an orchid or lily, or maybe a tulip. I don’t know much about flowers. As soon as any man presents me with them, it’s my cue to bail and run like hell. The only flowers I know about are the fake ones we keep on the tables at the restaurant.

She approaches me with her arms outstretched, holding the flowers out to me, one in each hand. A bright smile curls her lips. “Pick one,” she says.

“Why?” I ask, skeptically. “Is this a test?”

She smiles in silence.

I try to analyze what she’s asking me to do. The rose is the obvious choice. It’s the flower of love, the go-to flower for pretty much any occasion. The one most women would probably select. The white one reminds me of Easter. Or maybe funerals. I’m not sure which, but I like it. It brings back memories of the field behind our house growing up. The house that is now Baylor’s house. Piper, Baylor and I would run around in that field for hours playing hide-and-seek, and then we’d pick the pretty white flowers to bring to my mom.

She giggles. “Just pick one, Skylar,” she says, rolling her eyes at my hesitation.

I reach for the white one. I never did like to conform.

She pulls me in for a hug. “Oh my gosh, we’re having a boy!” she cries.

I let her hug me. I’ve gotten used to her hugs by now. Sometimes I even hug her back, because let’s be honest, it’s the only real human affection I’ve had in almost six months.

And dammit, I’m horny. The vomit phase of this pregnancy has morphed into the insatiable phase. As in, I swear blood is being pumped to my lower half, causing my clit to swell at very inopportune times. Yesterday, I actually had an orgasm riding the stationary bike. All the vibrations from pedaling . . . I didn’t even bother to stop riding. I just reached down and pushed myself over the edge, slowing my progress momentarily as I squirmed around on the seat.

Last Sunday at brunch, when Griffin leaned over, brushing Erin’s hair behind her ear to whisper something, I almost combusted at the table. I imagined what it would feel like with his hot breath flowing over my neck as he whispered into my ear. I actually had to get up from the table and go relieve myself in the public bathroom.

I’ve become very proficient at silent orgasms.

“A boy?” I ask, eyeing the flower in my hand.

She pulls me over to an empty table and sits me down. “It’s an old wives tale,” she explains. “You present a pregnant woman with a white lily and a red rose. If she chooses the rose, she’s having a girl. If she chooses the lily, a boy.” She gestures to the flower I’m holding. “And white lilies just happen to be my favorite flowers, so that’s an added bonus.”

“Hmmm,” I mumble. “Kind of a girly flower for a boy, don’t you think?”

“Actually, Greek mythology holds the lily as a symbol of eroticism and sexuality, the long pistil of the flower suggesting a phallus.”

“So you think the bean has a long pistol, huh?” I tease.

“If genetics play a factor, a
very
long pistol.”

Oh, hell
. The last thing I need to know is how well-endowed Griffin is. My mouth waters as if the aroma of another cheeseburger had been floated under my nose. I can already feel the blood rushing downward.

“Uh, Erin,” I say. “I really don’t want to hear about your husband’s phallus.”

She laughs and grabs my hand, pulling me up and leading me out the door. “Okay, no more talk of Griffin’s incredible man member or his expertise where it’s concerned. Let’s go shop.”

Oh, God, she did not just say that
. I swear it’s like she can read my mind and is deliberately making an effort to feed my atrociously inappropriate fantasies. Maybe she’s trying to torture me because she knows I lust after him. He’s the proverbial forbidden fruit—with a long, talented pistol, apparently. Why is it ingrained in human nature to want what we can’t have?

On the way out the door I remind myself that she’s only ever been with Griffin, having no comparison on the matter. Therefore I rationalize that he may not, in fact, be the sexual expert she touts him to be.

We walk a few blocks over to an upscale maternity boutique. The whole time, while Erin is talking about how glamorous she’s going to make me, I’m thinking about the fact that for several weeks she all but checked out of my life, save a few texts and an e-mail. But she seems fine now. Happy even. Carefree. Whatever it was, I guess she got over it. Maybe Griffin was right and she simply needed time to adjust to her new reality after seeing the ultrasound.

At the store, we’re greeted by a sales lady who proceeds to tell us exactly what’s in style. She shows me the dressing room which is outfitted with several sized ‘baby bumps’ that I can strap on to see what the clothing will look like as I grow bigger.

Erin picks out a crapload of outfits for me to try. She gets everything from yoga pants to cocktail dresses. I can’t even imagine filling out the front panel in the designer jeans she hands me. Surely these must be for women having twins.

The one thing I notice about most of the clothing she’s selecting for me is that they all show a good bit of cleavage, something I have a generous amount of for the first time in my life.

“Erin, is there some reason you think I need to flaunt my boobs to everyone?”

“Hell yes,” she says. I laugh because that’s as close to cursing as she gets. “You have awesome boobs now. Not to say you didn’t before, but you should enjoy your voluptuous curves while you’ve got them. You know, show them off a little.”

I roll my eyes at her. “Why would I want to do that? Men don’t even look at me now. And that’s fine—it was one of the points of doing this whole thing, in fact.”

“Are you crazy, Skylar? You’re oblivious. You turn heads all the time, everywhere you go. Including my own husband’s.”

I stiffen and hope to God she doesn’t notice the heat dancing across my face. “I never, uh, Erin, I don’t—”

“It’s okay,” she says, putting a reassuring hand on my arm. “You’re gorgeous, Skylar. Men are going to look at you. Griffin is going to look at you. It doesn’t bother me.”

“You’re imagining things,” I say. “He doesn’t look at me. Not that way. And not when he has you, I mean you are hot. Like, Sports-Illustrated-swimsuit-edition-cover hot.  Plus, I think he hates me, actually. Didn’t he tell you about our fight the day he set up the bike?”

She laughs. “He did. I think it’s adorable how protective he is of you.”

“Maybe you think it’s adorable. I think it’s annoying,” I say. “Last week at brunch, when a guy followed me to the bathroom, Griffin jumped up from the table and made a loud comment about pregnant women having to pee all the time. The poor guy wasn’t even coming on to me. He was just going to take a piss.”

“You’re wrong,” she says. “After you left the table, we all heard the guy tell his buddies that he was going to come back with your phone number. Men do still want you, like it or not.”

“Well, just wait until I’m fat. Then I won’t need your cock-blocking husband.” I point to my stomach. “Cock-blocking Bean will take over the job.”

“Are you saying you
want
to sleep with a man?” she asks, tentatively.

“No, not really.” I lower my voice and look around to make sure nobody’s listening. “Except I’m really horny. As in—all the time. If there were a word for horny times ten—that would describe me.”

“You know there are ways to take care of that yourself, right?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I know. I already wore out my damn vibrator,” I say, shamelessly, walking into the dressing room and drawing the curtain as her laughter follows me.

I decide to strap on the medium-sized tummy that reads ‘six months.’ The large, ‘nine months’ one is humongous. There’s no way I will ever get that big. I pull one of the new dresses over my head as Erin talks to me from outside the room.

“I know I don’t have a right to ask anything else of you since you are doing this one, larger-than-life favor for me already, but . . .”

“What is it? Just spit it out,” I say through the curtain, already knowing I’ll do anything she asks. Erin is one of those people you don’t turn down. She gives so much of herself in everything she does. She’s compassionate, friendly, and selfless. It still shocks the hell out of me that she doesn’t have swarms of friends vying for her attention.

“Griffin can’t cook, but I don’t want to be burdened with it all the time after the baby comes,” she says. “I was hoping you could maybe give him some cooking lessons, you know, being that you work in a restaurant and have access to loads of great recipes and all.”

I sigh. “Not that I don’t want to—” o
kay, I sooooo don’t want to
“—but, why don’t you just teach him yourself? You’re a good cook.” It’s true, she’s had me over for dinner a few times.

“You know our schedules don’t mesh very well. He works a lot of evenings and I know he’d never agree to it on the weekends, especially since he’s a little hesitant to do it anyway.”

“Hesitant? You mean, he hasn’t agreed to it?” I ask, peeking out of the curtain. “And, in case you forgot what you said two seconds ago, he works nights, so he couldn’t cook for you anyway.”

“Oh, he’s agreed to it alright.” She winks at me. “I was very convincing.”

The way she says it has me picturing him naked and against a wall while Erin gives him a blow job.  I hide behind the curtain again, wallowing in my jealousy because she gets to see him naked.

“He’s just not exactly thrilled about it,” she says. “I was thinking he could help me by cooking during the day. Then I could re-heat it when I come home after work. You know, you could teach him to make casseroles and stuff.”

“Not thrilled?” I ask. “About learning to cook, or
me
teaching him?”

She laughs. “Learning to cook, of course.” I peek out and raise a brow at her to see if she’s telling me the truth. She gives me a pleading look. “Please, Skylar. I’ll pay you.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” I say.

“Oh, then you’ll do it?” Her face lights up.

Shit.

“He could come by the restaurant during your least-busy times. At say, two or three in the afternoon. Whatever works for you would be good. Or he could come to your apartment if that would be more convenient.”

Double shit.
“No, no, the restaurant would be fine. We’d have a lot more options there than I have at home.”

She pulls me out of the dressing room and into her arms. Did I just agree to this?

“Thank you. I’ll owe you big time.”

I look down at the price tag on the designer dress I’m wearing. “You don’t owe me anything. Buy me this dress and we’ll call it even.”

She pulls back and holds me at arm’s length. Her eyes go straight to my belly with the artificially-augmented baby-bump.  Her eyes tear up. She puts her hands on the bump as if it were really an extension of me. “God, I hope I get to feel him move.”

I draw my brows at her. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m sure you’ll feel it, just not for a while yet, according to that gigantic book you have me reading. But you have my permission to grope me whenever you so desire.” I look around after I replay the words in my head. “That sounded wrong.” I giggle, but she doesn’t find it funny. I wonder if she even heard what I said.

She looks sad, eyeing my false tummy.  Maybe she’s wishing that Bean was growing in her instead of me.

Of course that’s what she’s wishing
.

She takes a cleansing breath and looks me in the eye. “You are positively glowing in this dress. And your boobs look completely drool-worthy. You should wear this Monday.”

“Don’t you think it’s still a little big for me right now?”

“Nobody will even notice the extra material at your waist. They’ll all be too focused on your boobs.” She reaches out to pull the dress even lower than it already dips between my more prominent breasts.

“Would you quit it,” I whine. “They’re spilling out enough as it is.”

“I just want you to feel pretty. Desirable,” she says. “Because you are. Any man would be lucky to have you. Don’t ever forget that.” She sighs. “So, Monday, okay?”

“Okay, okay, I’ll wear the damn dress on Monday. Geez.” Far be it for me to argue with a non-pregnant woman who seems more hormonal than I am. “Can I go try on the other stuff now?”

It takes a while to get through the piles of clothing she picked out for me. In the end we settle on the boob-enhancing dress along with six or seven other uber-stylish outfits.

Erin removes her wallet to pay, dropping it on the floor. She goes to pick it up and drops it again. And again. And another time after that. I finally reach down and pick it up for her.