Chapter 19

Bunny

“ Ohmygoddddddd ,” giddily giggles Posie from across the counterspace, “Kipp is sooooo gonna love that!”

I let the corners of my lips curl towards the paper snowflakes that are dangling from her store ceiling. “He better. This shit wasn’t exactly easy to find.”

Especially not with him curiously peeking over my shoulder practically every chance he gets.

Thankfully, not because he’s jealous or not so secretly thinks he has something to be jealous about, but simply because I’ve been spending way more time on my phone reading about pregnancy, newborns, and stealthily Christmas shopping.

I haven’t done the whole Christmas thing in years.

None of it.

Not the tree.

Not the decorations.

Damn sure not the gifts.

A lot like being in a relationship – threelationship? – it’s new.

And exciting.

And fills me with joy as opposed to apprehension which is such a fucking relief.

I’ve wasted enough of my life like that.

I don’t wanna go back.

I won’t go back.

Regardless of whatever Brad tries to do to me.

Us.

“He is totally obsessed with that franch,” Posie dramatically sighs prior to flipping her hair over her sweater covered shoulder. “The fact that you got him a framed, signed movie collectable collage is absolutely gonna jingle his bells.”

It’s impossible not to snicker at her Christmas pun. “You live for holiday jokes, don’t you?”

“The boyfriend is a bad influence.” She offers me a piece of tape, grin massively growing. “He swears he loves hearing them.”

“Does he love hearing them or ,” I slide the object from her fingers to mine, “does he really just love hearing them from you ?”

Her teeth steal a small bite of her bottom lip. “ Idontknow. ”

“What do you think?”

“That being asked to meet his ‘rents for Christmas was so not on my BINGO card for the year?”

“ Same. ”

An arched eyebrow of curiosity is instantly shot in my direction.

“Not for you!” leaves my mouth in frazzled rush. “I meant for me . I absolutely would’ve put that on my card for you . That and will go out of his way to kiss you underneath the mistletoe.”

“ Ohmygodhedoesthat! ”

“Not surprised.” The playful wink that escapes me precedes the smoothing of the sticky item in its proper place on the edge of the package. “You two are Mariah Carey Christmas in love.”

Another giggle and bite are executed. “You really think so?”

“I know so.”

“Because you’re in love and know what it looks like?”

“ Exactly. ”

This time we girlishly giggle together, and I embrace it.

I actually like hanging out with Posie.

It’s so… different than being with the guys.

Don’t get me wrong.

The three of us have a shit ton of fun together.

Teasing and cooking and dancing and building and binging and still banging like my namesake.

When we’re together – whether that be all of us or in pieces due to someone working – it’s undeniably incredible. They have not only become the two people I trust the most in the world – pens down – but the two people who know me best.

Who have welcomed letting me get to know me better.

The real me.

The me who doesn’t have to hide behind blocked windows or recoil in fear over convertibles.

I love them.

I do.

Fuck…I really, really do.

But I want friends outside of them.

Just like I want an identity apart from us as a couple.

Throuple?

Threeple?

Whatever the term is.

Hanging out with Posie – sans the boyfriends – is beginning to give me that.

Just like texting Val for non -baby things.

Both females are helping fill in that column of me I didn’t even realize was so empty.

For instance?

I found out that I really like getting pedicures.

And in turn…they found out that they really like coming on my feet afterward.

It’s a win for everyone.

“Soooooooo,” Posie steers the conversation once more while offering me another piece of tape, “you’re meeting Nolan’s ‘rents?” Her head tilts to the side in obvious intrigue. “I didn’t even know they were still alive.”

They’re not.

Which isn’t a terrible thing, from the little bits of his childhood he let slip free while we were decorating our tree.

Part of me thinks he’s sharing to prove to Kid that he can be open with him – unprompted – that there really are no secrets between them, that he’s completely in this like we are, yet the other part of me thinks it’s happening because now he’s going to be a dad and is reflecting on the shitty one he had.

What went wrong.

What not to do.

What never to do.

How to prevent becoming the very person who gave him half his genetics.

And Kid?

Kid is having similar concerns.

He might not say it out loud, but it’s clear as a properly put together budget proposal on his face that he has similar worries.

That he may end up being more like his dad than he imagined possible.

Their contiguity in that department is bringing them closer but not exactly allowing me to have a role, which is why – again – I love having my own friends to also confide in about my own worries.

I think it’s healthy that I do.

That we all do.

I also like learning what emotionally healthy actually is.

I want our child – or perhaps someday children – to have what it is we clearly lost out on having.

I mean I didn’t have shit parents.

But there was definitely room for improvement.

Then again…isn’t that true for most parents?

“They’re not his biological parents,” I casually explain prior to sealing the last of the giftwrap in place, “however, they had a major hand in raising him.” Grabbing a gift tag sticker occurs next. “Truth?” My fingers pause on pulling up the object to meet her stare. “I’m kinda nervous. I haven’t met a boyfriend’s parents in years.”

And the last set of parents I did meet?

Mommy dearest hand fed her psycho son his steak and let him pat dry the juices off her tits when his father was out of the room.

And good ol’ dad?

He had a permanent glazed over gaze that I’m now wondering if maybe was caused by a drug they were giving to him in his beverages…like they had to me.

Perhaps he’s a prisoner too?

“You’ll do a-maz-ing ,” Posie swiftly reassures, encouraging me to finish up wrapping with a small tip of the chin. “You’re so fucking lovable, they’re probably gonna be like ‘uh marry this one already’.” My giggles are immediately gasped over. “What if he does propose?!” There isn’t time to respond courtesy of another gasp. “Wait! Does he have to propose to both of you?” Her head cocks itself in confusion. “Or just you ‘cause you’re the chick?” A deep cringe keeps me from answering. “Is that like totally bias shit?” She jabs a finger in the air in my direction. “Sexist shit.” Her tiny, pointed nose scrunches. “Genderist?!”

“ Posie ,” comes out in soft, sweet tone, “you’re overthinking it.”

“Or maybe you’re under thinking it.” She plops her hands onto her jean bearing hips. “What if that’s the whole reason he wants to introduce you to them?! Or what if introducing you is just a distraction to the real plot reveal of a proposal?!” Her head bounces back and forth in needless contemplation. “ Proposals? ” After a quick shake, she squeaks, “Whatevs! We totally need to pick you out something special to wear! For that and the annual winter festival this weekend.”

I playfully wag my finger. “You just want me to spend more money at your store to help you get your Christmas bonus.”

“It can be both!”

Laughter leaves each of us again and reverberates around the unsurprisingly barren store.

This is that time of day when most people are either just getting off work or about to get off work or stuck in traffic trying to get away from work. Working remotely – as well as running my own successful business – means I can pretty much make up my own schedule, and one of the best perks – nowadays – is getting to use that flexibility to go shopping or to lunch or to the local doc when my boyfriends are concerned, I’ve been vomiting “too much” for everything to be okay.

And it is okay.

A fair amount of morning sickness is quite normal – according to both Val and Fred.

All of a sudden, a gust of cold air enters the shop from the door opening, shifting our attention over to a sight I damn sure didn’t have on my BINGO card for today.

Jolene warmly greets the woman across from me, “Hey, Posie.”

She politely waves and offers her a cordial grin. “Hey, Jolene.”

Her glare grating itself across my lazily dressed frame precedes a wordless sneer that I don’t give her the satisfaction of returning.

Unlike Kid who gets noticeably tense over a man our boyfriend has never been into, I can’t even be remotely bothered by his actual ex.

What’s there to get my thong in a twist over?

They weren’t actually that into one another.

From what I’ve heard – courtesy of Kid as well as Posie – is the situation was convivence that lasted a little too long, and honestly?

A lot of people go through that.

Hell, Val like just ended shit with the barista that she had been banging simply because of his easy accessibility of working directly across the street from her practice. Apparently, he was barely in college – legal but not go to a bar legal – didn’t have his own car – his dad lent him his work truck – and lived at home with his divorced mother – who still did his laundry.

And what the fuck could make a smart, successful woman like her stick around for almost six months, the jury wonders.

Orgasms.

The boy – evidently – made it rain orgasms and free coffee.

You know most women appreciate free beverages – both acholic and non.

Val claims to be a simple creature outside of the office and sticking around for sex along with caffeine verifies that exponentially.

My point is…I’m not threatened by Jolene because there’s nothing to be threatened by.

What they had was a lot like what Val just gave up.

Suitable for that point in his life.

He’s not there anymore.

He’s somewhere better.

And I’m happy that includes me.

“Let me know if you need help finding anything,” Posie calls out while sliding me another box to wrap across the table. “Or have any questions.”

A grunt of acknowledgement is all she’s offered in response.

Rather than switching over to that “Jingle Bell Thot”, Posie gleefully inquires, “What are we thinking for our meet the ‘rents din with Nolan? Classy? Sassy?” She slams her palms on the counterspace and leans forward. “ Sophassy? ”

“Is that supposed to be slang for sophisticated?”

“Totes!”

Alright.

Not something I adore about this female.

Her unfortunate language skills tend to lean towards stereotypes I wish weren’t true.

“Casual?” I retort unsurely. “Maybe something that says, ‘pleased to meet you’ but not anything that screams ‘he’s clearly thinking about having sex with me in your bathroom’?”

Posie’s snickers spark my own, yet the scoff of disgust in the background smothers it. “ Doubtful that it’s you he’s thinkin’ ‘bout screwin’ in the bathroom, honey… ”

The woman across from me shakes her head in hopes I won’t engage; however, I toss an incredulous look over my shoulder at the same time I investigate, “And who are you implying that he is thinking about, Jolene?”

“The same person he was clearly thinkin’ about when we were together.” Additional repulsion spreads across her makeup heavy complexion. “ Kipp. ”

“That’s true.” I don’t bother batting away a smirk. “He does spend a good amount of time thinking about him too.” Smugness slips into my expression. “And of course all three of us together.”

“ So hot, ” murmurs Posie under her breath.

“Oh…darlin’…” the red headed headache slowly states. “How are you that dumb?”

“ Excuse me? ”

“How are you missin’ what is clear as goddamn day?” Her lackadaisical stroll around a rack of sweater dresses suddenly halts. “Those two don’t want you .” She nonchalantly braces her arm against the structure. “They only want each other. You are nothin’ more than a smoke screen to keep the town from talkin’.” Another judgmental glance of my frame is stolen. “And it ain’t workin’ ‘ cause they are talkin’.”

“Let ‘em talk,” is attached to an indifferent shrug. “I know what’s true for us, and that’s all that matters.”

“There is no us , sweetheart. There’s them ,” her finger points towards the doors, “and you. And you aren’t needed for there to be a them. ”

“Maybe not.” It’s impossible not to sardonically smirk. “However, I am needed for there to be an us , which is what we are, and what you know nothing about.”

An annoyed eyeroll prompts Posie into poking, “Why so bitchy, Jolene? Still pissy that super, mega, rich hot client, called off the wedding with his fiancée, leaving y’all with a gap in the scheduling?”

“Ugh,” she grumbles as she drops her attention back to browsing, “doesn’t help.”

Not her.

But it does further demonstrate Brad is taking my warning seriously.

And he should.

Nothing will stop me from protecting this baby or the men responsible for helping me raise it.

“Have you actually talked to him since he called it off?” Posie pushes the penguin wrapping paper in my direction for Nolan’s grill related gift. “You did brag that you two had a connection. Maybe that’s the reason why they cancelled? Because it would be wrong to marry her when he has feelings for you ?”

Her adorable optimism is what leads me to keeping my mouth clamped shut.

“ If only ,” my boyfriend’s unhappy ex grunts. “Supposedly she’s pregnant, and he wants to wait until after they decide what to do with the baby.”

Dread dribbles itself down my spine despite my resistance.

How does he know I’m pregnant?

Did someone tell him?

Did he hear it?

See it?

How does he have that information?

How long has he had it?

Did he see us that day at the clinic?

Has he somehow hacked into our phones?

Emails?

The fucking medical portal?

Before Posie can ask any follow up questions, the door to the shop is swung open once more, although this time it reveals two panicked faces, one of which I know very well and the other that I’m surprised took him this long to come check on me.

“Miss Ripley,” Post cautiously begins at the same time Kid’s fright-filled expression leans over his shoulder. “We need you to come with us.”

There’s no stopping worry from deepening.

“ We’ve found a body that needs identification. ”