Read Annihilate Me 2: Vol. 1 Online

Authors: Christina Ross

Annihilate Me 2: Vol. 1 (24 page)

When I climaxed again—this
time with Alex right behind me—we both let out a primal moan that seemed
so base, it could have come from another time.

 

 
 
 

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

 

“You’re what?” Blackwell said to me
as she sank heavily into her seat.
 

It was the next morning, I was at
Wenn, and Blackwell and I needed to talk about a few things, the first of which
I’d nailed her with the moment I walked into her office.

“I’m pregnant.
 
Knocked up.
 
Full of the seed.
 
Not quite ready to birth a baby yet, but
it’s coming.
 
Get ready, Grandma.”

“Grandma, my ass.
 
Nobody calls me ‘grandma.’”

“Then what do you propose?
 
Because Alex and I will consider him or
her to be your surrogate grandchild.”

“How dare you age me like that?”

“We’re not aging you.
 
We’re honoring you.
 
So, what do you want to be called?”

“That child can call me ‘
Grandmommie
Dearest.’”

“So, you plan on being an abusive
grandmother?”

“I plan on telling that child the
truth.
 
That isn’t an ugly
word.
 
That failure is inevitable.”

“Get real.”

“Fine, then it’ll be
Blackwell.
 
That name demands
respect.
 
Your little lump of
multiplying cells can call me Blackwell when it sucks its first breath.
 
That will keep it in line.”

“Oh, please.”

She leaned back in her chair and
started to writhe, as if the devil had possessed her.
 
Her head and her arms flailed from side
to side as if she were in the throes of an exorcism.
 
I heard one of her heels strike her
desk.
 
And then another as she
continued to act out in ways that only Blackwell could.

“I can’t believe you’re telling me
this,” she said.
 
“It’s can’t be
true.
 
It isn’t true.”
 
And at that, she sat up, and shot a
finger at me.
 
“But then it isn’t
true, is it?
 
You’re lying!
 
Of course you are.
 
This is just another one of your tricks
because you know I won’t be able to fit you into couture.
 
You told me that Alex and you were
waiting another two years before you started your little Wenn army.
 
Do you think I’ve forgotten that?
 
It’s on my calendar, for God’s
sake.
 
You told me it would be two
years before you had a baby.
 
Do you
seriously think that I don’t check that date weekly?
 
I’ve been watching the fashion trends
because of that date, all in an effort to hide that looming, budding baby bump
of yours.
 
This is a lie.”

“Sorry, but it isn’t.
 
And by the way, if I throw up on you in
the next few minutes, let me just apologize for that now.
 
Because it could happen.
 
Apparently, I’ve been throwing up lately
not just because of stress, but because of morning sickness.
 
And—oh, look—it’s
morning.
 
And I’m feeling nauseous.”

“Don’t you dare hurl that cradle of
doom toward me.”

“Given the way you’re reacting, I’ll
aim it straight toward your eye if it happens.”

“As if you’d dare.
 
This is ridiculous.
 
This calls for an intervention I never
saw coming so soon.
 
Let me go to
Google,” she said.

“Why?”

Her fingers danced across the
keyboard.
 
“What do you mean ‘why’?
 
Obviously, to see if anyone makes corsets
that can haul in a pregnant woman’s gut.
 
Spanx
won’t do the job—but a corset
would.”

“I’m not going to have a gut.
 
I’m going to have a growing child within
me, which can’t be squeezed to fit your neurotic needs.
 
There’s a difference.”

“Tell Dior that!
 
Tell Valentino!
 
Stella!
 
Prada!
 
They’ll cast you away as if you no
longer matter to them.
 
They’ll turn
away from you as if I haven’t worked for the past year to sell the hell out of
you to them, which I have.
 
You’re
heading straight down a drainage pipe that leads down that crude, awful
bargain-bin maternity wear hellhole known as Macy’s.
 
Or Sears.
 
Take your pick, girl, because that’s
where you’re headed.
 
Wherever you
end up, they’ll wrap you in polyester covered in some sort of horrid floral
print.
 
Since your pants won’t
button properly—if at all—you’ll be wearing elastic waists!
 
God!
 
And then there are your shoes to
consider, which is a whole other issue.
 
Your ankles will swell.
 
You’ll have fat feet.
 
What
in the hell am I supposed to do with fat feet?
 
Put them on Jenny Craig?
 
And what will Bernie think?
 
How can you break that kind man’s heart like
this?
 
How can he even begin to give
you cheekbones when your face will be puffed out like a puffer fish?
 
This is the worst.
 
The worst!
 
Tell me it isn’t so.”

“Are you about finished?”

“I’m just getting warmed up.”

“Then cool it, because I need your
support.
 
It’s not as if I can go to
my mother for support.
 
She’s
probably half in the bag by now—have you forgotten that?
 
Do you even realize how much I need
you?
 
Alex can only do so much.
 
You and Lisa are it.”

“Who is Lisa?
 
Why is the room spinning?
 
Why do I feel an arrhythmia coming on?”

“Because you’re being
ridiculous.
 
Come on.
 
I need you here.”

And with that, she brushed her bob
out of her face, sat up in her chair, and looked at me with a steady gaze.
 
“Is this true?”

“Of course it is.”

“Jesus.”

“I was hoping that you’d be happy
for us.”

“Well, of course I am.
 
But you knew that little bit of theater
was coming, so you got it.
 
When is
this little Wenn person due to tip its bonnet to the masses?”

“Eight months from now.”

“Mere seconds!”

I snapped my fingers at her.
 
“Get it together.
 
You need to accept that this is
happening.”

She placed her own fingers over her
mouth.
 
“Oddly, I think that I might
get sick myself…”

When I didn’t answer, she saw the
look of frustration on my face, and backed off.

“Oh, settle down.
 
You came in here knowing that you’d get
a show and dance from me, and you got one.
 
I don’t give that to just anyone, you know?
 
Look, fake histrionics aside, I’m
delighted.
 
You know I am.
 
I would, however, prefer to be known as
‘grandmother.’
 
‘Grandma’ sounds as
if I got on a horse and trotted into the city from Kentucky.
 
So, will ‘grandmother’ work for you?”

“I think ‘grandmother’ sounds
nice.”

“What does Alex think about this
mess?”

“It’s not a mess.”

“Fine, Maine.
 
In your hormonal state, it’s not a
mess.
 
Where I’m coming from, the
earth is shaking.
 
So, tell
me—what does he think?”

“He’s beside himself.
 
He wants the world to know now, but I’ve
warned him against that.
 
We need to
get through the first trimester before we tell anyone.”

“Well, at least I agree with you on
that—it’s practical.
 
In this
case, anything can happen.
 
I’m
praying that it won’t, but we need to face the facts.
 
Now stand up.
 
Give ‘Grandmother’ a kiss and a
hug.
 
Believe it or not, she’s also
beside herself with—what’s that emotion—happiness?
 
Something like that.
 
I barely recognize it these days.
 
Just give me a hug and a
kiss—that’s all I want.
 
Don’t
screw up the hair and the makeup.”

I stood, and when Blackwell hugged
me, it felt as if my own mother was holding me—assuming, of course, that
that woman had even been a mother to me.
 
But I could feel the genuine warmth behind Blackwell’s embrace, and when
she kissed me on the cheek and said into my ear “Congratulations, my dear
girl—I’m so proud of you,” I melted into her.

“I can feel your stomach, you
know?” she said when we parted.

“Oh, you can not.”

“It’s growing.
 
It’s bursting.
 
I’ve always heard about the long road,
and apparently I’m about to walk it.”

“And look at me,” I said to
her.
 
“About to puke.”

She stepped back.
 
“Don’t you dare.”

“Just know that at this point, if
you take things too far, I can unleash it like few others.
 
You should see what can shoot out of
me—it’s epic.
 
So, consider
yourself forewarned.”

She sat back down and touched her
throat.
 
“How…awful.”

“You’ve been here twice
before.
 
What I need to know is what
to expect.”

Blackwell’s face softened.
 
“I remember when I first became pregnant
with Daniella.
 
As you can imagine,
that was no easy pregnancy.
 
It was
hell for the first few months, but I worked through it.
 
And if I know you, you’ll do the
same.
 
What I don’t want you to do
is what I did.
 
When you’re eight
months out, leave work, step aside, and just rest.
 
I didn’t.
 
I literally went into labor right in
this office.
 
Nobody knew, of
course.
 
I just clamped my legs
shut, called a cab, and got to the hospital.
 
When Daniella came out, it was as if she
was greased with bacon fat.
 
I mean
it.
 
I think that from the time I
was admitted into the hospital, that girl was out of me in ninety minutes.”

“Another sign of your
efficiency.
 
How about Alexa?”

“Believe it or not, as easy going
as she is, she was tougher.
 
I was
in labor for a good twenty hours, probably because she was busy counting cells
and considering whether my uterus was organic.
 
Who knows with that one?”

“Did you leave Wenn after eight
months with Alexa?”

“I didn’t, but I should have.
 
Another regret.
 
My water actually broke in this office
with that one.
 
People had to clean
up after me.
 
Imagine the
humiliation.
 
That’s why I want you
to learn from my mistakes.”

“Giving up work is going to be
tough,” I said.

“But you need to.
 
Trust me on this.”

“I want to do right by my child.”

“Then you’ll take a temporary leave
when you reach eight months.
 
That
way, you can get the baby’s room ready, and can start writing out a plan on how
quickly you can lose the baby weight.”

“I’m kind of nervous.”

“You should be terrified.
 
We all are when it comes to our first
child.
 
With the second one, at
least you know what to expect—sheer torture.”

“I feel so relieved right now,” I
said sarcastically.

She leaned toward me and put her
elbow on the desk, with her chin firmly planted in the palm of her hand.
 
“All right—it’s sunk in.
 
You’re about to be a mother.”

“I am.”

“Look, don’t sweat it.
 
You’ll make a terrific mother.
 
And Alex—he’ll be the best father
going.
 
Not to mention the most
supportive of husbands.
 
It’s going
to be OK, Jennifer.
 
You’ll
see.
 
You’re about to go through one
of the defining moments of your life.
 
I’m thrilled that ‘Grandmother’ is about to witness all of it.
 
As for clothing, we’ll figure it
out.
 
I’m not worried.
 
Earlier, I just wanted to make you
laugh.
 
Bernie and I will make you
look smashing whenever you need to look smashing.
 
He might even have to use less bronzer,
because you’re going to have that glow people go on about as if there’s a light
shoved up your ass.”

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