Rearrange
2370 Words
Percy
“You can stop shaking it, P. It’s not like one of those toys with the marbles. Those lines aren’t going to rearrange themselves.”
“I’ll take another one." My palms are sweating so much by now, the plastic almost slips from my hand. "This isn’t really a ‘plus’… Don’t you think? I —-
“Girl, stop rambling. And stop peeing on those sticks!" Lana grabs my hand hard, looking me in the eye. "Your a** is pregnant. No matter how many of those you take.”
And the reality of the situation starts to trickle in slowly. F**k. F*CK!
“My 10-year plan is derailed.”, I breathe, clenching the 15 pregnancy tests Lana bought for me in my fist. The manic chuckle that leaves me, has my friend raise one of her perfect brows. But I can't really focus on that. Because in my mind, I’m going through the Yellow Pages, trying to remember the number of the free clinic to get a blood test done. If I’m anything, I’m thorough. And now thoroughly f**ked. Jesus, I'm hilarious. I let out another hysterical laugh. Where is my hair tie when I need it? Once my hand goes to my wrist, it comes up empty, nails scraping over skin a few times. Good, heavens. Lana seems honestly concerned now.
“You going crazy, princess?”
“Na. I’m good." I take a shaky breath. "Give me some coffee and about two hours, and I will have my life back on track. Can’t be that hard, even with a baby.”
“You’re only allowed one cup a day, Mama Bear, sorry. And if I remember correctly, you already had a huge monster of an iced coffee when you came in.” She rubs my shoulder, her eyes dripping with pity before she takes the tests from me and drops them into her huge handbag.
“So you’re… going to have it.” My brows furrow at that, and I have to swallow a mean comeback. Don’t be a b**h to your friend. 'Just nod, Percy! At least to her, you have to be nice. She just spent close to 100$ on pregnancy tests for you.'
I hate it when people want me to be weak by default. When they spin excuses for me, like I need an out. I don’t. Don’t need one and don’t want one. Ever heard of trying, failing, dusting yourself off, and trying again?
Don’t get me wrong, Lana is not weak. She’s one of the strongest people I know. But she would take the easy way out when offered. I think most people would. Somehow, that has never been it for me. I still get what I want, regardless of the circumstances. I make sure that I do. And I guess I should have seen a situation like this coming because nothing in my life ever goes as planned.
After years, I have finally built a good routine and am paddling in shallow water debt-wise with my job at Ruby Red’s and the tutoring I do.
So why not throw me the curve ball of an entire other human to take care of? The dent in my life plan has me reeling, the pit of anxiety in my stomach so big it swallows the part of me that thrives on planning and any new challenge to figure out.
Deep down, there is this part of me that always knew I wanted a child. And that also knows full well that I would never have given it the time of day if it hadn’t just happened. There would have always been the next thing I focused on, one more thing I needed to get 'just right' before I would have 'allowed' myself to even think of wanting a baby. Now this has been taken out of my hands.
How still baffles me. I always use protection, and I’m on the pill. That one time, I was too drunk and threw up the following day I got the morning-after pill. Guess that didn’t work.
“I… do. I want it." My stomach gives a flutter. "And I don’t really have a choice. Thanks, senator. The last time the condom broke was about four months ago… if not a little longer.”
Ugh, ‘pitbull-faced buff guy’ was not my last s*xual encounter but the only possibility in the previous six months where anything could have happened.
“OK.” My friend blows out a breath and pulls me up beside her. It’s quiet for a long while before she grins at me.
“Your t*ts are going to get huge.”
I snort. “Actually, that is a misconception. Sure, the glands in your breasts grow in size, and your breasts get more sensitive, but they don’t necessarily get bigger overall.”
“Please stop calling them 'breasts'!" Lana wrinkles her nose. "And I’m still imagining your skinny a** with big knockers for the next… 4-5 months, smarta**.” She sticks her tongue out toward me, and I can’t suppress the grin any longer.
I’m not chesty at all, and my friend and colleague has made her opinion on me getting a boob job known. But the regulars like my a**, so I haven’t seen a reason so far.
Haven’t been up on stage for the last week due to nausea. Which I attributed to a stomach bug that I thought was typical for this time of year and that I surely could have picked up in class. But apparently, no. I have a generally joyfully received parasite that momentarily is the size of a ‘chicken finger.’ No idea if my eidetic memory of the pages in my textbook talking about fetal development is going to be helpful here or terrifying. But it's in there, oh, it is in there.
Looking at her wristwatch, Lana straightens abruptly, cursing under her breath. “I’m on in 5. F*ck. I have to change!”
Looking at me with her brow rising once again, she adds. “And you have to be behind the bar." I don't see the light slap to my butt coming and wince a little, shooting her a look. But Lana couldn't care less.
"Ruby is already making an exception for you because she has a soft spot for scrappy little blond b*tches with big brains and ambitions." She chuckles. "She would never let any of us still come in if we told her we couldn’t spin on that shiny thing without painting the regulars with our own ‘chunky flavor.’”
Winking, she turns and unlocks the stall we have been hiding in. “I should claim preferential treatment to the workers union.”
“Girl, which union?” I laugh and brush some hair behind my ear, trying to refocus my energy and not let the heavy feeling in my stomach win. This is a new wig, and their texture always takes me a few weeks to get used to. But I've always wanted to be a redhead.
“Then we are going to form one. And your pregnant a** can be second chair.” I press my hand over her mouth before she can continue.
“I don’t think everyone needs to know about this just yet. Let me talk to Ruby after tonight’s shift, and then we can throw me to the wolves to feast, OK?”
Lana nods, pushing my hand away. "Just, so you know: I would NEVER eat you. Too little fat. But I can't speak for all of us." Then she grins over my shoulder at someone entering. “Hey, Ruby.”
“Hey, my loves.” I turn quickly, pulling down my skirt more, straightening my ‘uniform’ before I look at my boss. Ruby has always been kind to me since she bumped into me at 'Norma’s'. I had ranted to the old Russian lady about how sh*t had hit the fan recently, and Ruby appeared out of nowhere, giving me an opportunity I never thought possible. Steady pay, hours I can work around my schedule, and anonymity. I like that.
“Lana, please tell me that you’re going to change." Three-inch acrylics click on the fake marble counter as our boss eyes my friend. "‘Juicy’ tracksuits are not the look I’m going for on stage, sweetheart.” Her eyes are stern, and the hint of anger in her voice makes Lana move past me faster, squeezing my shoulder.
“Sure, Ruby.” She smiles over her shoulder before leaving us for good.
Ruby's gaze softens when it meets mine. “And you should be behind that bar.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I thought we talked about you calling me that.”
“Sorry, it’s a compulsion.”
A small smile pulls on her lips. “You’re forgiven. But get out there now. The band I booked for tonight just arrived, and I want you to have those boys drunk by midnight.” Leveling me a look, the smile on her face gets wider until she looks like a hyena on the prowl, and I can’t suppress the chuckle. Oh, I already pity them. Ruby is a real cougar, and she doesn’t come to play. I mock salute, which makes her laugh, and then leave the bathroom.
The warm air and smoke from the machine close to the stage make bile rise in my throat as I step closer to the bar on the opposite side of the room. Carefully, I maneuver myself through the rows of tables and past the four bigger boothseats for the well-paying customers. I pass the small side stage where the band has already set up their instruments. My steps steadier now, I look up and see Brandy do her last twirl on the pole and smile to myself. Lana is next.
Call me weird, but I like watching the others. I find something so sensual in their bodies winding, the audience so close but never able to touch. Unless they pay for a lap dance. And even then, it’s up to the dancer, and safety protocols are in place, Ricci taking his spot in front of the door to the private room to scare the scrawny Johns far away from trying something stupid on anyone.
When I’m only 3-4 feet from my safe spot behind the bar, I hear a whistle from my right. A hand grazes my a**, squeezing it. I whirl around.
The guy closest to me, a shaggy blonde with one of those ‘Colgate’ smiles, grins mischievously. Hell no. Every other day, I would have stayed calm. It’s just the hormones. Just the hormones… At least, I tell myself that when I put on my fakest surprised expression. OK, maybe it isn’t. It's probably the stupid grin that's doing it for me. Altough that is slowly dying down now. I know I could call Ricci over, but where would be the fun in that?
“I’m so sorry, did you mean me?” Giving him my best doe eyes, I flutter my lashes, my voice so high pitched I sound like a f*cking Disney princess.
“What?” Oh, the confusion on his face.
“The cat call and the a** grab." I really have to supress the smirk now, at his paling face. So I go harder. "Tell me, were they truly meant for me?” I touch my chest, eying him with a docile smile. So much so that his discomfort reaches deadly levels, him taking a step back. I just keep pushing.
“Well, you know, when I woke up this morning, I thought to myself: Damn, I wish I would get catcalled by some random dude today, you know?" I giggle and give a small jump, clapping my hands. "And now it happend! AND you grabbed my a** too.” I lick my lips at that.
“Oh.” OK, maybe the tiny moan is a little much. But I guess you got to commit to the bit. Putting a foot up on a chair nearby, I spread my legs as far as my skirt allows without him getting a view straight up my uterus. But his suddenly appearing deep shade of tomato red tells me he won’t be looking too hard. God, I hate those guys that are all talk. And then they run if you challenge them. Get a grip and keep you hands to yourself if you don't want to be humiliated.
“Ahh.” Throwing my head back, I moan, a little deeper this time. “Oh yes! The level of rizz... They just spread by themselves and … Oh my god, so hard to keep them closed—
“Oh, f**k off.” His face beet-red the guy pushes past me, grunting.
“Where are you going, lover boy?" F*ck, I'm great at the breathless, whine s*x voice. Could give myself a pat on the back. "Should I get us a room? A drink?! You can’t leave a girl like that.”
Fakely pouting, I take my foot off the chair and tap the floor three times, before I pull down my skirt once more. My eyes flit to the left and meet an amused, deep green gaze. The man looks straight at me and seems to be suppressing a smile. Weirdo.
Raising a brow at him, as well as my chin when I turn to him, I sneer. “Wanna go next?”
He lifts his hands in mock surrender at my glare.
“Nope. I just want a drink.”
“Great.” I huff, bridging the short distance to the bar. After I step behind it, I grab a glass and face the guy once more. “What can I get you?”
Now he’s full-on smiling. And my stomach drops.
No. They can’t be for real! I told them I wasn’t going to do it! So why the hell did they still send him here?!
“Whisky, neat.” Jordan Araújo pushes a crinkled note toward me, the silver ring on his thumb glimmering in the dim light for a moment.
- Writer
