“The card says it’s from E. Who’s E?”
I whip around to see my mom reading the card. What on earth? Isn’t privacy a thing for old people?
“And why is this E telling you thanks for the hug?”
He wrote that? What would possess him to do such a thing?
“Err, well E, is me.” I nod and smile manically. “E stands for the E in Penny. Have to come up with a nickname, you know. That was part of the blog post. Nickname yourself. Clearly, I’m not very creative. Anywho, I hugged myself earlier, long and hard, and boy, oh boy was it a great one. So great that I decided to send myself flowers.” I sigh. “So, yeah, about that ice cream.” I motion toward the freezer.
Dad is now on the couch and holds up my phone. “Are you calling yourself too? Seems like an Eli is trying to get in touch with you.”
Jesus Christ!
Panic swells in my chest as I run up to the phone and snatch it out of my dad’s hand before he could do something completely asinine like answer it himself.
“Eli?” Mom coos. “Ooo, who is this Eli human?”
“Telemarketer,” I screech as I hurry down the hall. “Excuse me for a moment.”
I find the first door I see, open it, and shove myself into the hall closet, bumbling over my vacuum and dodging empty plastic hangers. When I answer the phone, I whisper, “Hello?”
“Penny? Is everything okay?”
“No,” I hiss at him. “Everything is not okay. My parents are here.”
“They’re . . . what? They’re there, at the apartment?”
“Yes, and they are questioning who the flowers are from. Which are gorgeous and thank you, but why did you send flowers? And you said thank you for the hug? Now my mom thinks I nicknamed myself E, and I send myself flowers and hug myself. Do you know what kind of loser status my parents must think I’m at right now? I’m pretty sure they’re questioning all of their parenting decisions at this very moment.”
“Why would they think you sent yourself flowers?”
“Because that’s what I told them when they asked who they were from. I am panicking. Can you hear that I’m panicking? Because I am. I haven’t told them about the baby yet and then all of a sudden, while I’m trying to enjoy freaking Ben and Jerry’s and watch a movie to get my mind off the fact that I miss your company, my parents come barging in with your flowers. Eli, this is not good. They’re going to be able to smell it.”
“Smell what?”
“My pregnancy,” I hiss again. “Keep up.”
“Uh, I’m still trying to comprehend that you hate the flowers but miss my company.”
“I didn’t hate the flowers, but I have ice cream on my shirt. I didn’t think I’d be seeing anyone. If I knew I’d be entertaining tonight, do you think I’d be doing it so unpolished? At least I would have put some ChapStick on or something. But then they stop by, unannounced, and I have ice cream on my shirt.” My throat chokes up as tears start to form. “I don’t want my parents to see me like this, a frozen dairy treat stuck to the fabric threads of my shirt, telling them self-love stories of how I enjoy my own damn arms wrapped around me so much that I send myself flowers. It’s not a good look, Eli.”
“Okay, slow down for a second. Did they actually see you hug yourself?”
“THAT’S what you’re going to pull from what I said? What is actually wrong with you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know how to help. Maybe, just be cool, you know? Try to act like everything is normal. Or tell them about the baby. It might help.”
“Tell them that I’m pregnant and have no intentions of getting married to the man who inserted the baby?”
“I didn’t insert—” He lets out a large sigh. “Listen—”
“And what if they ask about the sex of the baby or the name. For Christ’s sake, Eli, we are naming our child Peggy Leggy or Johnny Jim Hornsby. They’ll commit me to an insane asylum.”
“They’re not going to commit you to an insane asylum. They won’t even know unless you say something and only say something if you’re ready. How long will they be there?”
“At least through to the third game of the series.”
“Okay, so I’ll be back. Why don’t you just hang out with them, have fun, and when I get back, we can tell them together so I can be there to support you and field questions.”
“You’d do that?”