Twisted(58)

The building is more than a hundred years old, with original moldings, floor-to-ceiling windows, and two balconies that overlook Central Park. Plus, Bon Jovi lives a few floors below us, which is cool. Kate is a big fan of his.

So, I think that covers it all. Did I leave anything out?

I’ve learned my lesson. For good this time. Seriously. If I come home and Kate is screwing some random guy in our bed? I won’t freak out—I won’t say a word.

I’ll just pick her up, toss her over my shoulder, and carry her to the nearest DNA lab to make sure it’s actually Kate, and not some evil long-lost twin hell-bent on wrecking our lives.

I’ll never doubt Kate again. Or us, for that matter.

Still don’t believe me?

That’s okay. Time will tell. And besides—Kate believes me. And that’s all that really f*cking matters, isn’t it?

Now that you’re up to speed, I won’t bore you with anymore recaps. But the story’s not over yet. You can watch the rest of the action—live.



“I can’t eat another bite. I think my stomach’s going to rupture.”

“God, Matthew—another slice! How can you even?” Delores asks.

Matthew rubs his protruding belly, like a grandpa on Thanksgiving day. “It’s a gift.”

She rolls her eyes.

The gang’s all here. The guys came over to help me arrange the furniture in the nursery, and the girls tagged along to supervise. Solid cherrywood—that’s some heavy shit. Take my advice: go with imitation wood. It looks just as nice and is a hell of a lot easier to move.

Shamu stares at Matthew as he picks up his fifth slice of pizza. “Seriously, Matthew—you need to stop.”

Shamu? Oh, that’s Alexandra—new temporary nickname. Matthew and I came up with it a few weeks back when she made the unfortunate choice of wearing a one-piece black-and-white maternity bathing suit to the beach.

Don’t tell Steven, though. He’s got zero sense of humor when it comes to us ragging on my sister these days.

With his mouth full, Matthew tells her, “Don’t be jealous, Sham—just because you’re too puffed up to enjoy this fine delicacy.”

Uh-oh. Did you catch his slipup?

Alexandra sure did.

“What did you call me?”

“What?”

“Sham. You called me Sham. What the hell does Sham mean, Matthew?”

I’ve never seen someone lined up before a firing squad, but now I know just what they’d look like. Matthew chokes down his bite like he’s swallowing a brick. And his wide eyes turn to me for help.

You’re on your own, man. I’ve got a kid on the way. It’d be nice to have four functioning limbs when he’s born.

“I . . . ah . . . I’m coming down with Tourette’s.”

Delores looks confused. Alexandra’s eyes narrow.

“Asslickingturdballmotherf*ckerbitch. See?”

Shamu turns away. “Whatever.”

Huh. That was disappointing. The pregnancy must be wearing her out. And speaking of pregnancy—Kate waddles into the room.

Her hair is long and shiny. It sways left to right as she moves. Her brow’s wrinkled tiredly, and one hand rests on her lower back to help support the immensity that is her front.

I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s adorably round. Like one of those Weebles I played with as a kid. She plops down on the couch next to me and puts her swollen Fred Flintstone–like feet on the coffee table.

“I’m so huge.”

I smile and put my hand on her firm mound, rubbing it like a bald head for good luck. Knowing there’s a real live baby in there, seeing him or her move beneath Kate’s skin, is pretty frigging amazing.

When there’s a Yankee game on, I talk to it—give him a play-by-play, like a seeing-eye sportscaster. And at night, when Kate is asleep, I balance the TV remote on her stomach just to watch the baby kick it off from the inside. Cool, right? In a weird Aliens kind of way, but still cool.

“You really are huge,” I say. “I think you’ve doubled in size since breakfast.”

The whole room goes eerily silent.

And Kate stares at my hand a second too long. “Excuse me . . . I have to . . . go . . .” She stands up and shuffles as quickly as she can down the hall.

Probably going to piss—she does that a lot lately.

Then Delores slaps me.

Smack.

In the f*cking ear. “Ow!” I rub my stinging lobe.

Shamu lets out an exasperated sigh. “Could you give him one from me, Delores? I don’t think I can get up.”

Smack.

“Jesus! What the f*ck?”

Alexandra’s all over me. “What are you thinking? You don’t tell a woman who’s three days from her due date that she’s huge!”

“I didn’t. She said it. I just agreed with her.”

“Delores.”

Smack.

“Christ almighty!”

If the ear-ringing is any indication, there’s an excellent chance I’ve just gone deaf.

“Kate knows I didn’t mean it like that.”

Delores crosses her arms smugly. “Sure she does, Dipshit. That’s why she’s in the bathroom crying her eyes out right now.”

I swallow hard and look down the hall. It’s possible that Delores is just screwing with me. It’s her favorite pastime these days, making me feel guilty for all the shit that Kate has already forgiven me for. Delores Warren is the Mickey Mantle of grudge holding.