“Oh, please.” I crossed my arms. “I’m sure he’s been nothing but wonderful.”
“Too wonderful. I can’t get five minutes alone. Do you think you could sneak one of these dogs into our car?”
Before I could respond, Val walked in, squealing when she nearly tripped over Tweedledum chasing his tail. “Oh my God,” she said, bowing her legs to dance around him. In a floppy wool hat and plaid top tied at her belly button, she hooked her thumbs in her belt loops and jigged. “Did I die and go to heaven? Which one is mine?”
“They haven’t officially been assigned yet,” I said, laughing at her. “Except maybe the female. I think she’s attached to my dad. In fact, I haven’t seen her in a few minutes.”
She glanced at her reflection in the black TV screen, adjusting her hat. “I saw Manning in your dad’s study with a dog when I came in.”
“Great.” I rolled my eyes. “They’ll be in there all day. Where’s Corbin?”
“Talking to your mom and Gary.” Val scooped a puppy off the ground and flopped onto the couch next to me. She paused when she noticed Tiffany. “Holy shit. Is it supposed to be that big?”
Tiffany did her best to cover her stomach—which meant basically resting her hands at the crest of it. “Yes. No. I don’t know. Robby says it’s normal, and he’s a doctor.”
“I thought he was an acupuncturist.”
“I never said that,” Tiffany snapped. “He’s a board-certified physician and one of the top pediatricians in Orange—”
“Tiffany, she’s messing with you,” I said. “Just like she always does.”
“Sorry. I can’t help it.” Val sparred with Dum, who kept biting her fingers. “I can be annoyingly sarcastic sometimes. I use humor as a defense mechanism.”
Tiffany and I blinked at her. “What?” I asked.
“I think she’s doing the sarcasm thing again,” Tiffany said out of the side of her mouth.
“I’m not.” Val shrugged. “I’ve been doing a lot of introspection lately. And talking. Corbin and I talk a lot. You’d think we’d have run out of topics after sixteen years of friendship, but nope.”
“And he said you use humor as a defense mechanism?” I asked. “That doesn’t sound like him.”
“No, I figured that out on my own when I was ten, Lake. It’s not rocket science. Corbin doesn’t like when I make too many jokes during serious discussions, though.” She sat back, staring at Tiffany’s stomach. “Some jokes are fine. But anyway. Enough about me. Is it painful?”
“Is what painful?” I asked.
“That.” Val pointed at Tiffany. “You look like an overripe tomato.”
Tiffany pushed herself up as much as she could in the lounger. “It’s mostly uncomfortable. Like, unbearably uncomfortable. There are things happening in my body—and coming out of it—I don’t even know how to describe.”
Val paled. “Gross.”
I smacked her arm. “Pregnancy is a completely natural and beautiful time for a woman.”
“Does Robby help?” Val asked, rubbing her bicep.
“As much as possible. Since he has to work a lot, he’s always sending me to the salon to get my hair blown out, or for pedicures. I mean, they’re a complete waste because I can’t even see my feet. I only go so they’ll massage them.”
Val blinked a few times. “But it doesn’t hurt?”
“Not really,” Tiffany said. “It feels funny when she kicks.”
Val’s back went straight as a rod. “It’s a girl?”
“Yep. Thank God,” Tiffany added. “I mean, either would’ve been fine, but now I get to buy her cute outfits.”
“Lake, why didn’t you tell me?” Val asked.
“I . . .” I studied Val. She had to have some angle for being nice to Tiffany, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. “I didn’t know you’d care?”
“Have you picked a name?” Val asked.
“Not yet.”
“Have you at least narrowed it down?” I asked. “Last time we talked, you had a list of forty or so ideas.”
“I tossed them all. Every single one.” Tiffany rolled her neck, stretching it side to side. “Nothing sounds right so far.”
“How about naming her after Grandma Dolores?” I teased, knowing Tiffany hated the name.
Val made a gagging noise. “Oh, God.”
“Hey,” I said, scoffing at her. “You know my middle name is Dolly after my grandma.”
“No, it’s not that,” she said, swallowing audibly as she moved Dum off her lap. Her complexion hadn’t warmed, and she did look a little pasty.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I was thinking about the whole process—getting pregnant, carrying it around for nine months, and then this like, thing comes shooting out of your vagina like a football.” Val shuddered. “How is that normal?”
“At least you aren’t a dog. Blue had this thing we call a ‘water sac’ hanging out of her vulva for an hour before she pushed out five sticky little puppies in a row—”
“I think I’m really going to be sick,” Val said, dropping her head between her knees.