Pregnant For My Ex-Fiiance's Father

3

“The Bawhovier twins?” I ask, referring to the center of gossip in Kringletown. If you want to know anything—and I mean anything—about the town, Martha and Mae Bawhovier are the people to ask.

They keep notes; I’ve seen them. Stacks and stacks of town gossip disguised as leather-bound books on their bookshelves. One day, when they both die, I have no doubt Kringletown will archive said gossip books in the town library, revealing all of the innermost secrets of those who have lived through a lifetime of holiday festivities.

“Yes, they’ve been watching over Aunt Cindy for us. Were you not paying attention to the emergency family meeting?” Taran asked.

“Kind of blacked out after I was forced to be a caretaker for my foreseeable future.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Says the one who gets to go back to the comfort of their home while I have to sponge bathe an elderly woman who I’ve only seen wear a turtleneck and slacks my entire life,” I reply.

“It should be an honor for you.”

My eyebrows shoot up as I lean forward and whisper, “An honor to see Aunt Cindy naked? What’s wrong with you?”

Taran’s jaw clenches. “An honor to take care of a relative who has provided you with many wonderful memories throughout your young years. This is the circle of life, Storee. They take care of us while we navigate life at a young age, and when they become old and feeble, it’s our turn to repay them.”

God, she’s so…annoyingly right.

“Doesn’t mean I need to be honored to see her naked,” I say with a lift of my chin.

Taran shakes her head and then pushes a large black suitcase forward. It’s not mine.

“What’s that?” I point to the suitcase. “That’s mine.”

Hope springs forward.

“Wait, are you staying?”

“I don’t think I have a choice in the matter,” she says. “I was going to see how this plays out, but from the few short minutes we’ve been here, I can confidently state that I can’t trust you to take care of Aunt Cindy on your own.”

I clasp my hands together in excitement. “Great, then should I just take off?” I thumb behind me toward the door. “I mean, weird that you brought me all the way here just to tell me that you’re going to take care of everything, but you have demonstrated a flair for the dramatic every now and then.”

“You’re not leaving—we’re doing this together.” She starts carting her large black suitcase up the stairs.

“Um, care to repeat that?” I say while moving toward the stairs to watch my sister manhandle her suitcase, which is three-quarters her size, up the wooden steps.

When she reaches the top, she stares down at me. “Depending on what the hospital says about my request for time off, there might be days that I have to drive back into Denver for a day or two of work. I need you to stay here with Aunt Cindy, but I refuse to let you do this alone, given your inexperience in taking care of anything.”

“Pardon me,” I say with a stomp of my foot. “But do you not recall how I’ve raised Alexander? He’s flourishing. And because Harriot, my neighbor, is taking care of him while I’m here, he will continue to flourish.”

“Comparing our Aunt Cindy to a ficus is not even close to the same thing, Storee.”

I cross my arms over my chest in defiance. “Says the person who bought Alexander a birthday present this year.”

“You asked me to grab some fertilizer when I came out to visit you. I highly disagree with calling that a birthday gift.”

“It was his birthday, and you brought it to him. I see it differently.”

With another roll of her eyes, she pushes her suitcase toward the red room.

“Uh, what are you doing?” I ask, heading up the stairs as quickly as my frozen legs will take me.

“Being productive…unlike you,” she says.

With my pillow still tucked under my arm, I reach the top of the stairs. “You know the red room is mine.”

Taran stands in front of the doorway, her five-foot-seven frame just an inch taller than me, but from the straight set in her spine and staunch attitude, she seems almost like she’s seven feet tall, staring down at me, the oblivious peon.

“The red room is bigger.”

“Well aware, as that’s why I always stayed in it.” I thumb behind me again and add, “That nightmare of a room is yours.”

“Nope, not this time,” she says.

I take a hesitant step forward. “Taran, you know I can’t sleep in there.” “You’re older now—you’ll be fine.”

“I won’t be,” I say in a panic. “They…they come alive.”

“Oh my God, Storee, seriously, you need to grow up.” She pushes through the door of the red room with her bag while I chase after her, heat enveloping my ears and cheeks.

“I am grown up, and I’m even more hyper aware of what that room has to offer. The nightmares…the exorcism it needs to cleanse the air.”

Taran opens her suitcase and starts unpacking, loading up the provided dresser with her clothes. The red room is a familiar comfort with its red walls, red carpet, red curtains, and red bedding. Every Christmas, Taran and I would share this room, the trundle under the bed an easy pull out for her to sleep on. Originally, the nightmare room was Taran’s, and she was fine with it. Mom and Dad would sleep in the room next to the red room, but once Aunt Cindy turned that into her own personal gym, Taran started sleeping on the trundle in the red room with me while Mom and Dad took…the other room.

“Fine, I’ll just sleep on the trundle,” I say, finding my way around it.

“No, you won’t,” Taran says. “I’m going to be away from Guy for a while, and I promised him I would…keep in touch.”

My nose crinkles in disgust. Guy is Taran’s boyfriend.

I don’t know much about him, but I can tell you this—I don’t like the way she said “keep in touch” like there was a s****l innuendo attached to it.

“Ew,” I say. “Please tell me you’re not going to be doing dirty things in Aunt Cindy’s house.”

“What I do in my room is my business.”

“Do it in the other room, then. I’m sure you’d appreciate the audience.”

Her eyes snap up to mine. “The Wi-Fi is better in this room, you know that, and given that you’re single and can’t be relied on to take care of our aunt by yourself, therefore uprooting me from my life, I’ll take the comfort I need to make it through the next few weeks.”

“What about my comfort?” I say, pointing to my chest. “Do I not matter?” She gestures to where I clutch my pillow. “You have your special pillow,

so you have all the comfort you need.” With that, she pushes me out of the room and shuts the door on me.

“You’re rude!” I shout, and then turn on my heel like a chastised child. I stare at the door to the other bedroom, my skin already itching from the thought of it.