Baking and Babies (Chocoholics #3)(8)

“Oh my GOD, that happened when you were six! Get over it already!” she complains. “See? Look how good you are at making Mom and Dad believe whatever you say. What’s one more tiny little favor?”

I roll my eyes at her as I turn away and pull my display to the edge of the counter. It’s a three-foot-long thick piece of cardboard covered in foil with my different soufflés resting neatly on top. It’s heavy and awkward, but I need to move it to the display case in the lobby with the rest of the pastry student’s projects.

“It’s hilarious that you can call this a tiny favor, Char,” I tell her as I slowly lift the makeshift tray with both hands and turn to face her. “You’re asking me to tell our parents I’m pregnant. To lie to our entire family for four weeks, have them spend that whole time being disappointed and upset with me, just because you couldn’t remember what a condom looked like.”

Tears fill her eyes again and I can tell she’s not faking them this time. I hate that I actually feel sorry for her. She’s the most selfish person on the planet, and I feel sorry for her stupid ass. She hasn’t even asked about finals when she knew what a big day this was for me. Two years of not having a life and working my ass off and she comes in here thinking only about herself.

“You don’t understand, Molly,” she whimpers. “I love Gavin more than anything else in this world. You have no idea how dead set he is against having kids. I thought I felt the same way until I took that test. I know it will just take him time to get used to the idea. I just need a little while to convince him how good it will be.”

I close my eyes and count to ten, trying really hard not to give in.

“Mom made me clean up your vodka puke,” I remind her, trying at the same time to remind myself all the reasons why I shouldn’t cave. “I had to listen to a forty minute lecture about knowing my limits, and then she made me watch fifteen episodes of Intervention with her.”

Cleaning up Charlotte’s puke wasn’t as bad as my mother trying to convince me that vodka was a gateway drug to meth and I should think about how embarrassing it would be if she put me on a reality show where the entire world would see me huffing air dusters and sleeping with eighty-year-old men to pay for crack.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Charlotte whispers. “I’ll make it up to you this time, I promise.”

My arms are starting to get heavy, and if I don’t agree to this, she’s never going to leave me alone. It’s not like I have anything else going on in my life now that I’m finished with school. I start working full-time at the Seduction and Snacks headquarters in a few days, but that’s a regular job with regular hours and nothing like the time I had to put in for school. And it’s not like I’ll be busy having a hot romance since I was too much of a chicken to finally try and have a real conversation with Marco instead of just sniffing him. He didn’t say one word to me when he studied my project earlier, made several notes on his notepad, and then walked away. He didn’t even look in my direction when we came back into the kitchen a few hours later and he handed out our final scores. Now that I’ll be walking out of this school for the last time, I’ll probably never see him again, and I completely blew whatever opportunity I had to flirt with him and see if he might be interested. My life sucks. It’s only four weeks, I guess I can handle a month of this nonsense to save Charlotte’s marriage.

“I want every baking item and pastry utensil you get at your shower. Including the KitchenAid mixer I know Aunt Claire already bought off your registry,” I inform her.

Charlotte squeals and claps her hands together happily. “Deal!”

“I also want ten percent of your profits from cards at the actual wedding.”

Her smile falls and she glares at me.

“Five,” she counters.

“I’m fake carrying your baby for four weeks, and you know Mom is going to want to talk about nipple hair! TEN!” I argue.

She stomps her foot and huffs. “Fine! Ten. But you better be the most convincing fake pregnant woman in the history of the world.”

“I’ll even dump a can of soup in the toilet when I have fake morning sickness,” I reassure her.

Charlotte quickly clamps her hand over her mouth.

“Dnsh shtak ashtok shtup,” she muffles against her palm.

The look of confusion on my face makes her pull her hand away, swallowing a few times to keep, what I’m assuming is a little vomit, in her throat.

“I said, don’t talk about…soup.”

She whispers the word soup, and I can actually see her face turn an interesting shade of green.

“You are so weird,” I mutter, shifting the display in my hands as my arms start to cramp. “So, what’s the plan?”

It’s her turn to look confused and she’s lucky I’m holding twenty-five pounds of soufflé’s or I’d smack that look right off of her face.

“How and when am I supposed to tell Mom and Dad this joyous news?” I growl in annoyance.

“Well, I told Gavin not to say anything until you could talk to them, but he might have already said something to Tyler who probably told Ava. So you should do it really soon. Like, as soon as you get home,” she tells me, having the decency to wince delivering the news that our sister and her weird boyfriend might already know about my fake delicate condition.