Not that they listened. No one ever listens to the ‘hormonal rants’ of a pregnant woman, so I’ll just leave it for them to figure out for themselves.
Jake and I decided to have our own house like my brothers and their wives rather than lease an apartment. Though unlike Jared and Evie, who lived in their house while they renovated it, and unlike Travis and Quinn, who moved in to a house they built without finishing the yard, Jake and I are doing the whole shebang. House, gardens, and pool. We demolished an old dilapidated house on the same street as Jared and Evie in Bondi and started a new house from scratch.
I figured it would only take a couple of months. All they had to do was pour a slab of concrete for the foundation, slap up a timber frame, some bricks, add a bath or two and a sink, dig a big hole for a pool, add in a few plants and voila! Instant dream house!
On that basis, we thought moving in with my parents for such a short period of time would be survivable, but five months later we’re still here and I’m hanging on by my fingernails.
Apparently construction workers are lazy. They don’t like to work. Sometimes they turn up just for show, eat their lunch at nine a.m. from their lunch boxes like little kids, and act like they’ve done a hard day’s yakka before heading home. They also gossip like you wouldn’t believe. I’m guessing it’s all the flapping of their gums that leaves them weary after a hard day of pretending to build stuff.
In summary, progress is slow. I show up onsite sporadically, heavily pregnant, and rage at them like a hormonal bitch. It spurs them into action, but they’ve estimated another three months before we can move in.
My baby shower was supposed to be in the new house. There should be a nursery set up and ready. Instead, I’m two weeks out from delivering Satan and I have nothing.
Well I have Jake, I guess. The asshead who sleeps like the dead. He rolls over in bed and his knee pulls up, hitting me in my side. I grunt. We’re getting married. Today.
This giant lump of muscled man will be my husband in a few short hours. He was supposed to sleep on the couch, tradition dictating you can’t see each other before the ceremony or it’s bad luck, but I don’t give a shit about the old, musty folklore. Jake promised he would never leave me again, and by god, that means not sleeping apart. Ever. Not even for a single night.
Jake makes an odd snuffling sound. He’s slowly rousing. A hot palm finds the hem of my oversized nightshirt. It slides beneath and climbs, rubbing a hand over my colossal pregnant belly.
My heart flutters and despite my shitty sleep, a smile tugs at the corners of my lips.
“You’re glaring at me,” he mumbles, his eyes still closed.
“I am,” I lie, “and I’ll continue to do so every morning you wake beside me for the rest of your natural life.”
“I already want a divorce,” he mutters, his calloused palm lovingly scratching its way across my sensitive, stretched skin.
“You can have the house,” I announce. “I’m over it already.”
“I’ll let you have the cat, then.”
“No,” I argue. “You can have the cat too.”
Our little kitten is a rescue from the RSCPA and a baby shower gift from Henry, Frog, and Cooper, because that’s what you buy for someone who’s about to give birth to Satan. A mothertrucking cat. Satan’s spirit animal. They thought looking after the furball would be good training for a baby. My friends are clueless wankers. It’s lucky they have me around all the time to set them straight.
“Where is it?” Jake asks, his rich brown eyes blinking open blearily. The bachelor party was last night. Jake and all the boys got to imbibe alcohol. Meanwhile, my bachelorette party was two weeks ago and included mocktails and flip-flops on my feet because cankles.
“Where’s what?”
“Constantine.”
That’s what we named our kitten. After the demon hunter who literally went to Hell and back. I voted for The Antichrist but Constantine seems to suit the fluffy little troublemaker. She’s also completely white, which was thoughtful of the boys. They know how soothing I find the colour.
“I don’t know. Do you hear her?”
She’s so tiny. We had to put a bell on her diamond studded collar—yes diamond studded collar. Jake bought it because he’s a sucker for Constantine’s huge feline eyes. God help us when our girl is born. Jake is going to spoil her until she becomes a complete hellion. Our daughter is going to be precocious and yet utterly endearing. She’ll wrap every single one of us around her finger until we’re nothing but a twisted mess.
“She’s somewhere.” I hear her bell tinkling from inside the room.
Jake rolls over and opens the drawer of the bedside table. He rustles around. Finding what he’s looking for, he pulls it out and rolls back. It’s a small rectangular gift-wrapped box tied with a red bow. He places it on my belly. It sways precariously from its mountainous perch. “Happy wedding day, my beautiful bride.”
My cheeks flush with pleasure. Constantine is not the only female he likes to spoil. “You got me a gift?”
He grins, eyes twinkling. “I did. Hurry up and open it before your family storms the bedroom door and drags us out to help with the setup.”
We’re holding our wedding in the backyard of my parents’ house. I’m too heavily pregnant to host anything more extravagant than that. It’s why Jared is already yelling at me. He’s tasked with twining flowers around the arbour I bought in a fit of fancy and setting out the guest chairs for the ceremony.
“If anyone tries dragging me into the setup, I’ll set fire to their clothes. While they’re wearing them,” I add as I pick up the box in my hands. I’ve left a million instructions so I’m able to relax today. It shouldn’t be hard to follow them.
“You won’t be lifting a finger today, Princess,” Jake assures me. “Now open your gift.”
Lips curved in a smile, I undo the bow and it slides away. A huge bang comes at the bedroom door before I free the lid.
“Macface! Are you up yet?”
It’s Evie. She must have arrived early with Jared. The wail of a baby wafts up the stairs. “Fuck,” we hear her mutter. “I just want five minutes to see my goddamn best friend on her wedding day.”
The sound of her clomping back down the stairs is loud. Their baby, my nephew, doesn’t like to be held by anyone else but his mother. He screams holy hell if she sets him down for even a minute. I don’t know how she manages to get up and dress for the day let alone shower. It makes me fear for the future.
Jake and I have only two weeks to ourselves before Satan arrives. I plan to make the most of them because Evie tells me her life is basically over now. This means we have just fourteen days left to live before we’re sentenced to a hellish existence of poop and puke.
Jake buries his head in my neck, chuckling as Evie departs.
“You think it’s funny?”
“Yes.” He kisses the skin at the base of my neck. Then another. And another.
A throaty moan escapes me. “That’ll be us in two weeks.”
His chuckles die a quick death and he draws back. “Now you’re just being mean.”