The prospective parents each chose a mat, the mothers-to-be twisting, turning, and using their partners to get into a sitting position, partner in the back. How had the other mats gotten so far away? The Lucklighter-Schollenberger party scored half the room. Oh, well. More space for them.
Bo raised an eyebrow at the seen-better-days carpet, sighed, and lowered himself down.
Charlotte sat on the mat, Bo, Lucky, and Rett gathered behind her. A quick once-over of the room showed no other foursomes, but one threesome. Interesting.
The instructor sat cross-legged in the middle of the room. Charlotte glanced back over her shoulder to roll her eyes for a sympathetic audience. “Like I could fold myself up like a human pretzel with this one in the way.” She patted her belly.
Between his sister’s size and Loretta Johnson’s brew-in-a-thermos, he’d swear the affectionately named “Bump” held twins, if not for the doctor saying otherwise.
The woman on the closest mat said, “I couldn’t cross my legs like that even before I got pregnant.”
The instructor either ignored the griping and sarcasm or had fine-tuned her selective hearing. She probably heard the same snide remarks in each class. “I’d like to start with introductions. Now, introduce yourselves and tell us a little about yourself and why you’re here.”
Rett groused, “Um… because they’re knocked up and want to figure how to get Junior out without permanent damage?” The instructor continued to ignore comments, but several other mothers grumbled agreement.
“Hi, I’m Mike,” the man who’d accosted Lucky earlier said without giving anyone else a chance to speak.
“And I’m Laura,” his wife said, patting her belly and smiling the inanely proud smile only mothers seemed capable of. Lucky had seen the look often enough on his own mother’s face. Or on Charlotte’s. Or Rett’s.
Come to think of it, Bo managed a pretty good imitation while playing with their son Alejandro.
Umm… Not Lucky. Someone please tell him he’d never looked that sappy.
“This is our first baby,” the woman continued, adding, “together. Little Kyle Martin already has a half-brother and a half-sister. Mike’s in marketing and I’m a stay-at-home mom.”
Some others made polite noises. Lucky stayed quiet—okay, he may have grumbled a little—and managed to avoid Bo’s elbow. Rett’s caught him square in the side. Hey! No tag-teaming.
“Thank you, Rett,” Charlotte muttered. They fist bumped.
How did she know what went on behind her? Must be a mama thing. His own mother had the ability too. She had to, or her five little hellions would’ve burned down the farm.
More than once.
When the trio’s turn rolled around, the pregnant woman acted as spokesperson after several moments of hushed chatter among the three of them. “I’m Angie, and this is Liza and Steve. I’m acting as their surrogate.”
Finally, Lucky and company’s turn arrived.
“Hey, y’all. I’m Charlotte,” Charlotte proclaimed with a small wave and one hell of a lot of Southern in her voice. “I’m also a surrogate, for my brother, Lucky, and his partner, Bo.” She waved a hand toward Rett. “That’s my bestie, Rett. They’re in law enforcement, so they’re all attending classes to ensure at least one will be available to go with me when the time comes.”
Did at least three couples stop leaning so hard away from them?
“Aren’t you afraid of having kids with such dangerous jobs?” clashed with, “You’re gay?” This from Mike. His wife sniped, “Children need a father and a mother.”
Motherfucking homophobes.
“In your rather bigoted opinion, what is a mother?” Lucky asked. He even managed to sound only semi-threatening.
The woman glanced at her husband, who shrugged. Taking his non-committal response as backing, she spouted opinions better kept to herself. “You know. A mother. Gives birth to the child, cares for the child’s needs.”
She called herself a stay-at-home mom, yet admitted she hadn’t given birth to the two children her husband brought to the relationship. Hypocrite, much?
A poor young woman who’d been dealt a bad hand gave birth to Alejandro, and feared she couldn’t meet her child’s needs. Bo and Lucky could, and did. “What needs?” Lucky asked, arms folded over his chest, and feeling every bit the cocky bantam rooster folks accused him of being.
“Feeding, changing diapers…”
“You don’t think we can do that? I’ll stack Bo’s cooking up against yours any day of the week, lady.”
Laura narrowed her eyes and attempted to mimic Lucky’s posture—twice, since the first attempt got thwarted by her belly. She gave up. “What if it’s a girl? Who’s going to talk to her about girl stuff?”