“She’s bored,” Rosemarie said.
“Bored?” Suzanne asked. “Didn’t you just marry the man of your dreams and spend the month in Tahiti?”
“The baby has made her loco,” Scarlet said.
Suzanne pursed her lips and nodded. “This is why I’m glad I don’t have the right equipment to have babies. I deal with pregnant ladies coming in the shop all the time wanting cake. Those hormones make you crazy as shit. I once had a lady go after my display case with a baseball bat. She ate almost everything in there before the cops came, glass and all.”
“Bored is the wrong word,” I said, sitting up straight. “And I’m not crazy. I don’t know what’s going on with me. But it doesn’t help that I’ve been throwing up so much every morning I think I’m missing internal organs. I’m exhausted and fall asleep at the drop of a hat. My boobs are a size bigger and my bras don’t fit. My husband is about to run for political office, and I’m not exactly Nancy Reagan. Plus, I’m out of a job and preparing to spend the rest of my life as Suzy Homemaker. And yesterday I cried because I ordered bacon at breakfast and when it came to the table it wasn’t the right shade of brown.”
“Ohhh,” Suzanne said. “Well, that makes perfect sense.”
“It does?” Rosemarie asked.
“I like the crazy theory,” Scarlet said, belching lightly.
“Well, of course it makes sense,” Suzanne said. “You’re feeling like you don’t have a purpose anymore.”
I looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “Did you not hear anything I just said? I’m pregnant. I’m told it’ll pass.”
“Ridiculous,” she said, flicking a crimson nail. “What you need is some excitement. A new challenge.”
“What kind of a challenge?” I asked.
“You could redecorate the house, or go shoe shopping,” Suzanne said. “The possibilities are endless.”
“I wouldn’t mind redecorating,” I said. “Nick’s house could use a woman’s touch.”
Scarlet snorted. “That’s an understatement.”
“Your choice of words is very interesting,” Rosemarie said. “You just called it Nick’s house. Which means you don’t feel like it’s yours.”
I shrugged. “I guess you’re right,” I said. “It does feel like his house. When we were living together it wasn’t such a big deal because it was his house. But now that we’re married, it’s supposed to be our house, but it still just feels like his house. Does that make sense?”
“Of course,” Rosemarie said. “You just need to put your stamp on the place. That’s all. Knock down a few walls, paint a few rooms. Buy out Pottery Barn. You’ll feel better in no time.”
“I used to work in construction before I made cakes,” Suzanne said. “I’ll be glad to help with whatever you need.”
“Huh,” Scarlet said. “I can’t picture you on a construction site.”
“Back then I wore boots and people called me Barry,” she said. “I have a lot more fun now, and I get to eat as much cake as I want.”
“That’s what I want to do,” I said. “I want to have fun and eat cake. What kind of career will allow me to do that?”
“Didn’t you just have that career?” Suzanne asked. “If you liked being a PI then I don’t understand why you don’t just go and do that. You don’t need an agency. You could put out your own shingle. I might have a storefront you could lease in a couple of months.”
“As tempting as that is,” I said, “I told Nick I’d put that life behind me now that we’ve got a baby coming.” I felt my lip quiver. I did miss the thought of never being a private investigator again. I was good at my job. And after the wedding, everything had happened so fast I hadn’t really had time to let it sink in that the career I’d poured my heart and soul into the past couple of years was gone.
“Are you crying?” Suzanne asked.
“No,” I said, using my fuzzy vest to dry my tears.
“You’ll feel better after we hit up Pottery Barn,” Rosemarie said. “I always feel better when I spend money.”
An awful sound was coming from the couch, and Rosemarie put one of the silver pillows over Scarlet’s face to mute the snoring.
“That’s unnatural,” Suzanne said. “She’s a danger to society.”
“If you only knew,” I said.
“Well, do something,” Suzanne said. “This is the classy part of town. People are going to think they’re living by the railroad tracks.”
“She never sleeps long,” I said. “She ate a whole cake.”
“And two teacups of whiskey,” Rosemarie said. “I saw her take the flask out of her coat. No telling what she’s got in there.”
My cell phone rang and I knew it was my mother since I used the beginning of “Bohemian Rhapsody” as her ringtone. I debated on whether or not to answer it.
“It’s your mom,” Rosemarie said excitedly, recognizing the ringtone. “Put her on speaker so I can say hello. I haven’t seen her since the wedding.”
Come to think of it, I hadn’t heard from her since the wedding either. I figured she’d have texted at least a dozen times while we were on our honeymoon, but I hadn’t even gotten one phone call.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, answering. “You’re on speaker.”
“Good Lord,” my mother said. “Is that a wood chipper?”
“Close,” I said. “It’s Scarlet.”
Scarlet snorted at the mention of her name. “Wha—” she said, waving her arms. “Who’s there? Why’s it so dark in here?” Then the pillow toppled to the floor and she hissed like a vampire as the light hit her eyes.
“You’re kidding,” my mother said. “I thought she was on a cruise ship to Australia?”
“She burned it down,” I said.
“Just my luck,” my mother said.
Scarlet sat up and her Sharon Osbourne wig sat askew on her head. “Is that Phyllis?” Scarlet asked, narrowing her eyes. “Tell her we’re busy.”
“Ssh,” I said, hushing Scarlet. My mother and Scarlet had never gotten along, but I wasn’t
