Nanny Diaries

Chapter 25 - Flipping Out

 “How did you get pregnant? Whose baby is it? How many months are you? Why haven’t you told the press about it?” Randy the-grease-monster Royce rapid fires the most idiotic questions I’ve ever heard in my life at me in quick succession, and I can barely blink in between them. 

“Well, first of all, I am their-” I pause to gesture to Chris and Angie, “surrogate.” I lay a hand protectively across my belly, wishing I could put more distance between me and this disgusting person who lives off other people’s personal lives than a table. 

Randy’s eyebrows shoot up, but that’s the only inclination to me that he’s surprised. 

“Ah.” 

“So, it’s their baby.” I point at them again, trying not to jab my finger into Angie’s swollen eye. I hate that she would dare to fake grief if she isn’t in mourning over her baby boy’s passing. Who does-

Stop it, Lauren, before you really do poke someone’s eye out. 

I huff out a breath quickly, trying to unclench my fist. The baby kicks my rib, and I choke on the air a little. I try rubbing circles on my stomach soothingly, that usually calms her down. 

“How many months are you?”

“Seven.”

“Have you been seeing anyone that would possibly lead to activity that could result in the baby being biologically related to you and a courter?”

Long walk for a short drink of water. 

“No.” I snap. 

“No, the baby is ours.” Angie links her hand through Chris’s, causing me to want to throw up all over he designer dress. It looks like it’s Armani. 

Possibly. 

I roll my eyes, glancing out the window and wishing I were anywhere but here. I wish I was a bird. I spy the water glimmering in the morning sun. 

I miss being outside. 

I snap my mouth shut, realizing I’m thinking like Dorothy from Wizard of Oz. I pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration. 

Angie elbows me in the arm and I turn to glare at her, rubbing my forearm in pain. 

It really hurt. 

I feel like a big baby. 

My thoughts are so jumbled I think I might just scream. 

Grrr. 

I am so wound up. 

I don’t think this stress is good for the baby. 

“Why haven’t you released the story to the press?”

“Because it was none of the press’s business until now, when we wanted to release it. It’s my body that is making a home for their baby until he or she is ready to be born. The world doesn’t have a right to the information until and unless we wanted them to. So, that’s why.” 

“Touchy, touchy.” he mutters, bending down to write something on his greasy paper. 

That’s it. 

Final straw. 

“Never,” I spit out, slamming my hand down on the table, causing the slime to jump in his chair, “talk to a pregnant woman like that. Never say “touchy, touchy” to a woman carrying a baby who is sitting on her bladder and using it as a squeeze toy.” 

I stand up quickly, sending my chair clattering out from under my feet. My hand shoots out before I realize what I’m doing and I flip the notebook he was writing in at his face. 

Angie shrieks, her hands going to her unusually dry lips, probably to show she doesn’t care about her appearance since nothing matters anymore. But it does matter to her. It matters that I just slapped a reporter from People magazine in the face with his notebook. 

And I’m going to pay. 

But I don’t care. 

“Lauren! You get back here right now and apologize to Randy or so help me-”

I laugh, a single, solitary bitter note that catches in my throat but somehow makes my point. I don’t care anymore. I am not one to be messed with. 

“Or what?”

Angie doesn’t know how to parent, and she sure as heck is not going to start with me. 

When I was in first grade, I cut off a girl’s ponytail because she tripped me. 

I am one stubborn girl, and I don’t take what people dish out. 

So, I need to cool down before I do something stupid. 

I jab the elevator button, repeatedly, impatiently. 

Angie’s heels clacking on the floor pierce my eardrums as she hurries to try and stop me. She yanks on my arm spinning me around and pinning me against the wall. I feel my blood boil, almost to an exploding point.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

I yank my arm out of her grasp and bump her off of me. “Don’t touch me. You do remember this is your baby in here, don’t you?” I ask. 

I dash into the elevator and catch one last glimpse of Angie’s shocked, stupid, plastic face. I am so angry I want to spit in her face. 

I’m never alone anymore. 

Thankfully the doors close, and I let out a huge breath. I can’t believe I let myself get so angry. I flipped a notebook into the dang reporter’s face. 

I pace back and forth irritatedly. 

Real mature, Lauren. 

“Ow.” I bend over, clutching my stomach as she kicks extra hard. 

Looks like she agrees with me.