Guess who's coming to dinner?
It's Saturday night and we're having friends over for dinner.
Maxine and I hooked up at University during Fresher's week, which was also a long, long time ago. More time than I care to think about, frankly. Ben and I also go way back, something like fifteen years, perhaps more. I can't quite recall.
Ben is the quiet, thoughtful type. He thinks before he speaks. He's an Action Man. He does stuff rather than just talking about doing stuff. He's incredibly athletic, the kind of guy who gets out of bed on a Saturday morning and walks up Helvellyn just because it's there, or cycles up to Edinburgh because he fancies a trip out.
Maxine is his wife of six years and the exact opposite. She's a Geek's wet dream and earns a crust designing environments for a local computer games company. Chances are, if you're a serious gamer or even a not-so-serious gamer, then you've been looking at her work.
Maxine is also damnably sexy. Physically, she's curvy in all the right places and has a waist to die for. Tonight, her hair is short and dyed impossibly blonde, and is presently wrapped in a Rosey-the-Riveter style polkadot head scarf. Her outfit for the evening is her usual Hipster garb - careworn and frayed dungarees, which stop just below the knee, Converse all-star Baseball boots replete with black and red striped socks and, of course, there's the obligatory band-who-nobody-has-ever-heard-of ripped t-shirt, which seems more or less part of her uniform these days. Imagine the outcome if Marilyn Munro had enjoyed a fling with Dennis the Menace or SuperMario. That's Maxine in a nutshell.
As a projection, it's fairly close to the mark because, tonight, Maxine is quite literally bouncing off the walls. Turns out she's been mainlining coffee since four this morning, trying to meet yet another impossible deadline. I don't know how Ben keeps up with her, frankly and he's the athletic one.
Okay, back to this evening. I'm on kitchen duties. The menu is entirely vegan. Ben and Max gave up meat years ago so we're accustomed to their requirements. Anyway, I'm vegetarian these days. Alex, my husband, nearly so. Trust me, the menu won't suit you carnivores out there.
We sit down to eat at around seven thirty and all is going well. Alex is the perfect host, managing the comfortable, easy-going (if occasionally racy) conversation like a pro. Max is being her usual over-the-top self and Ben is sitting, calmly smiling. The wine is flowing smoothly without anybody getting too drunk to stand up. Don't worry. I've already set out the guest room with clean linen because I don't want them to go home too soon or risk driving whilst under the influence. Not that they would, anyway.
To business.
Alex and I have some important news. We exchange a knowing glance. It's time.
I stand and tap my glass with my spoon, and then wait for silence.
Silence and Maxine do not go well together.
"Guys! If I may interrupt..."
Here we go. My stomach is doing backflips.
"Alex and I have some news for you..."
"Me first!" shouts Maxine. "Me first!"
"Okay..." I whisper. I figure our news can wait a little longer. "Go on then..."
"I got the last of my tats finished," shouts Maxine.
I glance across as Alex, who rolls his eyes in silent disbelief. Like this was important news.
"I got my chest done, and my calves and finally, my thighs," continues Maxine. "They look terrific. Wanna see?"
Maxine then starts to unbutton her top.
"Err, Max!" says Ben in a tone that is a little more alpha than usual. "Shush, will you? I have a feeling that this is a little more important than your tater-tats..."
"Indeed," I whisper.
"Go on then," says Ben. "Let's hear it. Your news..."
I take a deep breath and "Well, as you may have gathered... "
Alex is quietly beaming from ear to ear...
I point at the dinner table, specifically at the glass of water in front of me. I haven't touched a drop of alcohol all night.
"Nooooo...." whispers Ben. "You're not? Really?"
"Yes, I am," I whisper.
"Am what?" says Maxine, clearly puzzled.
"Duh..." says Ben, smiling. "You haven't guessed?"
I shake my head in disbelief. "Expecting..."
Maxine looks even more puzzled. "As in?"
Here we go. Bite the bullet.
"I'm knocked up," I whisper. "Pregnant. Up the Duff. A Bun in the Oven. Expecting a delivery from the big white stork... "
And the room erupts.
Hugs all round. Much laughing and happy, groovy thoughts.
Yeah for me. I'd drink a toast but... you know... So I don't. They do though. And then some.
An hour later and everyone is seriously merry. I'm good. I'm happy. But I also have a mountain of washing up to crawl through. Ugh.
Alex and Ben to the rescue. They get the kitchen back into some sort of order because I'm knackered. I am grateful though. A gal in my condition needs to take life at a slower pace.
Max and I are left all alone to chew the fat, so to speak.
"So," I whisper when the coast is clear. "Your tats? Do we get a look see?"
"Hell, yeah, if you want," says Max. "How will Alex cope? Will he get all prissy and..."
I shake my head. "What about Ben?"
Max shakes her head. "Lord, no! He'll be fine. He's a changed man these days... "
"Meaning?"
"You know his little problem?" whispers Maxine.
"You mean the whole retro-active jealousy thing?"
Maxine nods. "Yeah, that. It's a fucking nuisance that is," she says.
"And?"
"Well, I took him to one of Lucy's Christmas parties," she whispers. "Promise to keep a secret?"
I nod. "Yeah, why?"
"Promise?"
"Yeah, of course. Cross my heart."
Maxine checks that the coast is clear. "I took Ben to one of Lucy-Loo's sexy parties for a combined birthday / Christmas present," she said. "Got him laid. Whored him out..."
"Laid? Who off? Not that it's my business but..."
Maxine laughed. "Actually, I got him fucked three times," she says, holding up the requisite number of fingers.