Topsy Turvy Kinda Love
know? You’ve never even talked to him.”“Not true, sometimes he asks me to hand him a glass or bottle of alcohol at the bar. Occasionally, I’ll say something off the wall and mildly inappropriate just to freak him out or give him that cute little blush he gets when he’s embarrassed.”
A laugh escapes me. “You’re a dork. Do you know that?”
“I resent that. I am not a whale penis.”
“That is not what a dork is… is it?”
“Look it up, I swear to God, it’s a whale dick.”
I pull up Google on my phone and type in whale dick called dork. Sure enough, the results pull up, and she’s right. I start reading it word for word. “The blue whale’s penis, or dork, is the largest that ever existed. The average size for an adult male is 5m (15ft). The testicles weigh 10kg (22lbs).”
“Holy shit. 15 feet long, and it’s balls weigh 22lbs! 22lbs! Jesus.”
“Told you! Just think about swimming around with that shit. Like, look here, ladies. Look at my enormous whale dick. I don’t know about you, but I’d let that shit all hang out like… Look. At. My. Dick, y’all!” The hand gestures match how she’s talking, and I’m laughing so hard tears are streaming down my face.
“Isn’t that stuff internal on whales? I’ve never seen a whale swimming around at the aquarium with balls hanging out, and I think you’d notice 22lbs of them!”
“Oh, so maybe he has a blowhole for his dick. Like… peek a boo. Now you see dick, now you don’t?”
I’m rolling with laughter, bent over on the couch, holding my stomach.
“And I thought Brooks had a massive dick.”
Zara perks up. “Let’s take a minute and talk about it, shall we?”
I shake my head. “No…we aren’t discussing his dick.”
“Then why’d you bring it up, freaking party pooper man. At least tell me how big we’re talking here like…average man size five inches… or eight inches… or like huge at nine inches?
“Huge.”
She fans her face dramatically. “Damn, you probably got knocked up just looking at the damn thing. One look, and it’s like oops, definitely pregnant.”
“You’re a trip today.”
“I aim to please ma’am.” She salutes me, and I can’t help but grin. “Hey, speaking of shocking news. Did Brooks tell you?”
“Did Brooks tell me what?” I look at her with concern. What am I missing?
“Brooks and Donatello used to be friends. They came from the same compound.”
My eyes widen. “Interesting. I noticed them talking at the bar the other day, but I wasn’t close enough to hear the conversation.”
“It’s funny how small this world really is, some days, but apparently that compound turns all the men into sex fiends when they leave.” She laughs, and I can’t help but shake my head. Brooks is definitely into all the sex. Not that I mind it. “Don said that his name used to be Matt Singleton and that he had to change it when he escaped. What kind of a place did these guys come from? It’s just so weird. I can’t even imagine how Brooks feels, finding out that one of his friends has been alive this whole time after being told he was dead…”
Is finding this out in addition to my news too much? Anticipation of what Brooks will say creeps back into my cerebral cortex. Similar to a kettle brewing before it whistles. Anxiety snakes its way into every part of my body. I should be worried about why Brooks didn’t tell me something so monumental like finding someone he thought was gone, but it’s the farthest thing from my mind.
I’m going to be a mom. I’ve never dreamed of being a mom; hell, I decided my sophomore year of college that boys would only ever be play toys for the rest of my life. Look where that got me…
I wish I’d had a mother that loved me. I wish she had sheltered me from watching her get addicted to drugs and making bad choices.
I have no one to talk to. No one that can give advice to calm me down and tell me that everything’s going to be okay even though it managed to fall apart brilliantly in the course of just an hour. Zara’s older than me by five years, and although we goof off and act like idiots most of the time, she’s the closest thing I have to a big sister. I have Macy too, but she’s off living with her dog rescue sex god. Too busy to be bothered with my nonsense. And she doesn’t need to deal with my issues either.
Me: When are you going to be home tonight?
Brooks: Same time as always. You need anything on my way home? I can stop. I don’t mind.
Swoon! Why is he always so nice, I just don’t understand?
Me: No, I’ll see you when you get here.
Brooks: Miss you.
Me: Miss you too.
He’d taken to texting me randomly and telling me he misses me. The first couple of times, I tell him it isn’t possible that he misses me because he’s only been gone a few hours, and he responds that he’ll always miss me when I’m not with him because I’m home for him. He hasn’t pushed me again or mentioned anything about wanting more or to label us, and I’m happy with that. He’s slowly letting me come to terms on my own without feeling pressured. I don’t do well under pressure—case in point.
After setting the phone down, I lay back and prop up my feet.
“Was that Brooks?” Zara looks over at my phone.
“Yep, just checking to see when he was going to be done tonight.”
“And…”
“Same time as always.” Looking at the clock, I mentally count down the minutes and seconds I have until he gets here. Fifty-five minutes stand between me and the biggest conversation I will ever have in my life. When I asked Brooks to move in with me, I never realized it would change the rest of my life, literally.
Thirty minutes later,