Roseanne
'How are you feeling?' I ask, resting the stem of my glass on Jennie's pregnant belly.
'I'm pregnant, fat, and I'm eating like a fucking horse.' She blows her cheeks out and motions popping them. 'Tell me how you are. How's yoga going?'
'Great.' I smile, reminded of the image I had. 'It beats therapy by a mile. At my last session, I was so spaced out, and I saw Lisa and the twins when they were babies.'
'That's great!'
I nod, sipping my drink.
'And how are things with you and Lisa?'
I inhale and take a quick peek into the bar area where my wife is standing with her friends, but her attention is far from on them. 'Good.'
'And?' Jennie prompts.
I shrug. 'She's being very attentive. In between her rants about dresses, drinking and anything else that displeases her. Which is a lot.'
Jennie laughs, holding her belly, and then flinches. 'Ouch.'
I immediately bolt forward, my hands over hers on her tummy. 'What is it? You okay?'
She shuffles in her seat, grimacing. 'It's nothing. Just the baby lying awkwardly.' Brushing away my hands, she settles and gives me her undivided attention again. 'It's—'
I hold my hand up, stopping her. 'I know what you're going to say. I've figured out very quickly that she's a bit of a control freak.'
'A bit?'
'A lot,' I relent, taking my glass to my lips, thoughtful. 'It's just . . . weird, isn't it?'
'What is?'
I wave my glass through the air, indicating everything around me. 'Up here.' I tap the side of my head. 'I'm still in my early twenties, rocking youth and pursuing my career.' I look down at my lace-clad body. 'But here I'm thirty-eight, married to what can only be described as an ogre, and I have eleven-year-old twins. Eleven!' I flop back in my seat, once again utterly shell-shocked by what is my life.
After way too long a silence, I sip my drink as I look at Jennie. She's smiling. 'You know, I saw all these emotions in you once before.' She waits a moment for me to ask when, but I don't. I don't need to. 'Roseanne.' With one hand on mine, the other on her gigantic belly, she shuffles in closer. I look Jennie straight in her vivid cat eyes, wondering where she's hiding the past sixteen years because, frankly, she looks no different. The pregnant belly aside. 'For the record, you look fucking fabulous,' she says. Reaching up, she pushes a stray strand behind my ear, her smile knowing. She's read my mind, but I still pout, a little put out that I'm much older than I want to be. 'How do you feel about her?'
'Lisa?'
'No, Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II.' The roll of her eyes is dramatic.
I laugh softly, casting my gaze to Lisa at the bar. She's still watching me, though something tells me the glass of bubbles in my hand isn't the reason why. I can see curiosity scattered across her face. I breathe in, unable to help admiring the fine woman who is my wife. She has a sexy, magnetic appeal that demands attention, and for the most part, she knows it. She's a goddess, no denying it, and I am married to her. Though past all her cocky arrogance, there's a vulnerability. A weakness. I am the cause of that weakness. Her love for me.
I study her as she studies me, her body relaxed against the bar. My eyes go off on a tangent, roaming up and down her body, all the way down to her expensive shoes, and back up again until I get to her face. That face. I sigh, relaxing, a smile breaking free when her big eyes shine, glimmer, and sparkle madly, her devilish smirk faint but apparent. She's aware of the inspection she's under, and, as always, she's taking too much pleasure from my inability to keep my damn eyes under control. I shake my head faintly on a little laugh, and she winks, kissing the air. 'Arrogant ass,' I mouth.
