97 - Dinner and a Show

“Oh my God!  Your boobs are HUGE!”

Sheridan shook her head resignedly and shot her sister a cutting look as Jon, being a gentleman and taking her jacket, tried to choke back his amusement.  The rest of the half-dozen patrons in the restaurant were kind enough not to whip their heads around and inspect her breasts.  From Riley’s reaction, one would think that her bra harbored the Hindenberg in one cup and the Good Year blimp in the other.

“Aren’t they HUGE?” Riley demanded and jabbed an elbow into Mitch, who was seated next to her at the round family-style table tucked in the back of the tiny restaurant.  It was the only one of its kind in the place, with the rest of the seating being geared for smaller parties of two or four. 

As the men shook hands, Jon spoke to Riley’s husband in a conspiratorial manner.  “Man, do us both a favor – don’t look and, for God’s sake, don’t answer.”

Mitch guffawed and reclaimed his chair as Jon sat beside him.  “No way in hell am I stepping into that trap.  I’ve been married too long not to know that’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Amen.”

“Oh shut up,” Riley ordered good-naturedly rising to her feet about the same time that her sister started to pull out her chair.  “Sheri, don’t sit down until I feel your bump.”

Sheridan let her head fall back on a sigh, pondering the restaurant’s light fixtures and wondering if this was what the next several months entailed.  Not only did she lose her body to an alien, she became public property to whoever wanted to grope said alien.

“Seriously, Riley?  Is this necessary?”  But it was too late.  Her sisters hands were already roaming the loose cashmere, zooming unerringly in on the swell that was the alien.

“It absolutely is!  I haven’t seen you since Christmas and my baby sister is finally going to have her own baby.  It’s my right as an older sibling.”

“Oh for the love of…”

“Hey!  You weren’t supposed to check out the bump until I got here,” Suzy’s voice interrupted.  “Can you tell yet?”

“Oh yeah, you can tell.  See?”  Her sister pulled the sweater dress’s fabric taut over her midsection. 

Suzy dropped her coat over the back of the chair beside Riley’s and turned to inspect her friend.  “Oh my God, your boobs are HUGE!  Karl, aren’t they huge?”

“Don’t do it, man,” Mitch warned as the men exchanged handshakes amongst themselves.  “It’s a trap.”

Karl snorted.  “I may have been born at night, but it wasn’t last night.  Anytime these three get together I end up in trouble over some inappropriately personal conversation.  I’m just gonna talk basketball scores with you guys and let them go at it.”

Riley went back to her seat after placing an affectionate pat on Sheridan’s stomach, leaving Suzy to take over the public groping.  “When are you due again?”

“September eighteenth.”

“That’s what you get for being so skinny.”  Her red head nodded sagely as she released Sheridan’s stomach and settled in next to Riley.  “You start showing right away.”

Jon was finding the tolerant exasperation on his wife’s face priceless.  If Dorothea’s sisters had been this way with her first pregnancy, they had been kind enough to leave him out of it.  However, being older and more mature now, he thought he might actually enjoy it – as long as they didn’t turn on him.

“Beautiful necklace, by the way,” Suzy admired. 

“Yeah, speaking of which, show us that wedding ring.  I saw it in Us Weekly, but I’d like to see it on a hand that’s visibly connected to my sister’s body.”

“Hey, I’m proud of that shot in Us Weekly!”  Sheridan shot back, bringing her hand from her lap to the tabletop.  “That’s the only picture they’ve taken with my actual permission.”  Her eyes darted toward Jon with a smile.  “And the necklace was my Valentine’s gift from Jon.”

Riley clutched Sheridan’s hand and pivoted her head to the left with a look of pique for her husband.  “Why can’t you be a rock star and shower me with diamonds?”

“It wouldn’t matter if I was a rock star.  Our daughters would still spend more money than I make.”

Jon snorted.  “I hear ya.  I just gave my oldest an obscene check for her spring break trip.”

“Mine’s only seven.  I guess I should enjoy having money while I can,” Karl lamented just before the waitress came to take their orders. 

All of the group had been here at least a couple of times before, except for Jon.  He deferred to Sheridan’s suggestion of linguine.  Any Italian food was fine by him and if it was as spicy as she said it was, he would no doubt love it.

The women ordered a trio of exotic salads while the other two men chose spaghettini with clams and paccheri with veal meatballs.  The waitress had no more stepped away than the women picked up as though they’d never been interrupted.

“So do you want a boy or a girl, Sheri?  Do you have any names picked out?”

Sheridan slumped forward on the table, addressing her best friend with pure frustration.  “You can’t convince me it’s not an asexual alien taking up illegal residence in my stomach at this point.  Gender is irrelevant when I can’t manage to develop any feelings for it.” 

“I bet you’ve got the nursery all researched and planned though,” Riley speculated dryly.

Suzy chimed in with, “And outlet covers, baby gates and monitors.”

“Car seat, stroller, high chair …”

“Diapers, a snow suit, fuzzy sleepers…”

Jon wrapped his smile around the rim of his wineglass.  If he hadn’t known these women had spent most – or all – of their lives knowing his wife, he would still know it.  They had her pegged, and that slightly eased his worry over her analytical, obsessive, emotionless planning.  It sounded like this wasn’t a baby thing, it was a Sheridan thing. 

“Those things have to be done,” she informed them with a haughty shake of her head.  “It’s my responsibility to make sure it’s properly cared for.”

But that ‘it’ thing still digs at me. 

Riley laughed and Suzy was quick to join in, the two women exchanging knowing glances. “Get over yourself little sister.  It’s a baby not a bookstore acquisition.  If she sleeps in a dresser drawer for a month, it’s no great tragedy.  Mandi turned out just fine.”

“Oh God.”  Sheridan brought a palm to her forehead.  “You did do that to the poor girl, didn’t you?  I thought I was going to die when I saw her sleeping in that drawer next to your bed.”

It didn’t seem to concern Riley in the least.  She waved a careless hand and scoffed.  “She isn’t any worse for the wear.  I mean, she is dating a rock star’s son.”

Jon lifted his glass in a silent salute.  He could easily develop a fond affection for his new sister-in-law.

“I was convinced you didn’t love her,” Sheridan persisted.  “Now I’m afraid that’s going to be me.”

“Oh for Heaven’s sake.”  It was Suzy’s turn to interrupt.  “You were a godsend when Madison was born.  You were more help getting us on our feet than any nanny ever could have been, and you loved her just as much as I did.”

“Same with my girls.  You’re worrying over nothing, Sheri.”

“This is just what you do.”

The two women had begun a tag team type of conversation.

“You have undiagnosed OCD,” was Riley’s assessment.  “I’m convinced of it.”

“You have to get everything organized around you before you feel like you can relax and enjoy it.”

“Exactly.  Once you have all the nesting done, you’ll find out you’ve been talking to that ‘alien’ without realizing it.”

“So stop freaking out and give yourself permission to be you.”

Riley’s blonde head nodded its agreement and she pointed to her sister with a wicked grin.  “And give us permission to make fun when you blow up bigger than a whale and can’t see your fat, swollen ankles.”

“Wait.”  Suzanne looked back and forth between the siblings.  “We need permission for that?”

“Ooo!  Good point.  Scratch that.  We will be cruel and bitchy just because that’s who we are.”

“I hate you both,” Sheridan said around the grin on her face.  “Honest-to-God hate you.”

Suzy’s forehead wrinkled with a scornful frown.  “Of course you do.  But you can trust us to keep your obsessive-compulsive tendencies in perspective without the aid of medication.”

“Medication is bad for the baby,” Riley piped in.  “We want her perfect before we start spoiling her rotten.”

That was twice Riley had called the baby ‘her’.  Jon felt it was his manly duty to disengage himself from the men’s discussion about the Knicks and defend his future offspring’s gender.

“Her?  I think you mean ‘him’.”

Riley had no qualms about contradicting him.  She looked him in the eye with the same haughty expression that he’d seen on her sister’s face several times and reiterated, “No, I mean ‘her’.  Suzy and I both have girls.  Sheridan will, too.”

“Jon thinks it’s a boy,” his wife explained with a shrug.  “Since three of his four are boys.”

With one arm draped over the back of Sheridan’s chair, he extended his other hand to rub the baby bump.  “And since I’m the one who put him here, my opinion is right.”

That started a running debate throughout the course of dinner.  The men were pro-boy and the women – with the exception of Sheridan, who remained neutral – were pro-girl.  Both came up with their own brand of logic as to why they were right, and that logic stretched beyond the boundaries of believability as the wine continued to flow. 

Men and women alike were laughing uproariously over Riley’s ascertainment that it had to be a girl because a boy would instinctively fill the hole left when the mucus plug popped out.   Then he would never get born, she reasoned.

“Jesus, don’t start with that mucus plug talk,” Jon begged, pushing away his nearly empty plate.  “That shit makes me nauseous.”

He liked both women.  More specifically, he liked the way Sheridan was with them – like her life was nothing more than one big awesome bowl of cherries.  It was the most relaxed and happy he’d seen her in weeks and it made celebrating Valentine’s Day worth the effort this year.  Hell, he was ready to have dinner once a week with the other two couples if it would keep her normal. 

However, as much as he liked Suzanne, he had a special appreciation for Riley’s smart, feisty mouth. 

“There’ll be far grosser shit than in the delivery room, big boy, so put on your cup and deal with it,” she ordered, flipping her head to a sassy angle. 

Delivery room?  God, he hated the delivery room.  He had been there for all of his children’s births, but he kept himself right by Dorothea’s shoulder, his back turned and fastidiously avoiding any mirrors.

In his mind, the area between a woman’s legs was beautiful and sanctified and made him horny.  Seeing it ripped apart and spewing forth a bloody, screaming baby would effectively turn him into a eunuch.  No doubt about it.

“I won’t be eating shrimp linguine in the delivery room.”

Sheridan’s head fell back and her laughter bounced off the walls in the small restaurant.  “God, I hope not!  That makes me nauseous.”

The waitress returned then, clearing the empty dishes and asking about dessert. 

“Tiramisu,” the three women chimed simultaneously and promptly burst into giggles.  Mitch declined dessert and Karl ordered gelato.  Jon? 

“I’m pretty full,” he told the waitress as his hand found a warm resting place under the hem of his wife’s dress.  He squeezed and let his fingers drift around unsupervised.  “But I can’t pass up the temptation of that tiramisu.  Give me some to go.”