Give Up the Ghost by Cherie Claire

Author:Cherie Claire [Claire, Cherie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Happy Gris Gris Publishing

Chapter 10

“Two macchiatos, a latte and a regular coffee with extra sugar,” announces Brett Abernackie, handing out cups of Lightning Bug Latte’s best. The high school intern turns to me with a scowl, placing the cup on my desk and backing away. “And one decaf.”

I rise from the copy desk of the Lightning Bug Chronicle to remind him of my girth, a middle growing enormous and rock hard solid. I pat the bowling ball that’s now my constant companion, hoping little feet start kicking so I resemble a victim from the Alien movies. Brett’s heading into his senior year at Thomas Jefferson High School and an only child so my pregnancy freaks him out. He thinks I don’t notice him walking aisles away to avoid passing me in the hall or that he’s popped his head inside the lunchroom, caught me inside and done an immediate about-face. It might be because he touched my belly once and I let out a yelp, or that I swallowed a whole jar of olives, juice and all, gulping it down like a dog; I have weird cravings.

But today, the joke’s on me. The belly kids refuse to move and I shudder recalling those horror films, ones Sebastian thought would be funny to show me now that I’m well into my third trimester. I’ve had nightmares ever since.

Not to mention the other dreams.

I push that thought aside, thanking Brett for the coffee to his retreating back and inviting him to my gender reveal that includes vivid copies of my ultrasounds. Carol Winn to my right starts laughing.

“I fear for the time he gets a girlfriend and she mentions tampons for the first time,” Carol says.

“In all fairness,” I reply. “I am the size of a small RV.”

I’ve missed the newsroom, a sacred space considering the U.S. Constitution, but full of dark souls making fun of just about everything. It’s how we cope after witnessing dead bodies, environmental disasters, and kids storming schools with guns. Even the food editor, usually so prim in her bright yellow suits, has her moments. Yesterday, we heard the long stream of expletives before we smelled the smoke emerging from the practice kitchen.

These people are my clan, my tribe, wordsmiths who know a little about a lot of things, and use sarcasm and humor as a shield. I once had a friend comment that my colleagues were badly dressed, uncouth frustrated novelists with weird senses of humor. Looking around the Chronicle newsroom, and excluding the food editor who’s always well dressed, I see her point. Considering I’m clothed in what resembles a potato sack — maternity pants from the Target sales bin and a stretchable top I nabbed at Goodwill — my friend’s probably right.

I’m grounded from travel writing because my blood pressure continues to hover threateningly above normal. The part-time, copy editing gig’s enough to pay bills and allow me time to do travel puff pieces on the side, the kind I can develop through phone calls, keeping my hand in the game.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.