Page 37 of Someone Save My Midlife Tonight

“Have you considered doing a DNA test on one of those websites that can tell you who you’re related to?” June asked.

Jennifer looked intrigued. “I haven’t thought about that, but it’s not a bad plan. I’ve read all those crazy reunion stories on the internet.” She laughed. “Maybe my pappy is somebody famous like Elvis or Clark Gable! Wouldn’t that be a kick?”

“Sure would,” Gram said with a giggle. “Or maybe it was Bob Barker! That would be a hoot.”

“I’d just like to say, father or no father, that you turned out wonderfully, best friend,” Tim gushed, joining the group hug. “You’re smart, funny, beautiful and one of the best people I know!”

“Back at ya,” Jennifer told Tim. “I might not have much of a biological family to speak of, but my chosen family kicks bahookey.” She glanced around. “I just wish y’all sparkled like Edward in Twilight.”

I laughed. The mold had been broken when Jennifer was born. I was a lucky person that I’d been chosen by her. We all were.

Candy Vargo covertly swiped a tear from her eye. The woman wanted everyone to believe that she was a cold, hard badass, but the truth was that she was as sentimental as all get out. Her taking in a gaggle of foster kids was only part of the proof that the woman had love to give and love to spare. “Enough about that sparkly shart,” she grunted as she wavedher hands in the air and chanted a few words I didn’t understand.

I wasn’t sure what she’d done until Jennifer whooped and hollered with joy. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!”

I glanced around and realized every single person in the room was sparkling… just like Edward in Twilight. Even Gram, Mr. Jackson and Jimmy George Carrots were glistening. It was strangely beautiful and very fitting. Jennifer had lost the pained wistful expression and was back to her fabulous self. Candy Vargo for the win.

“Oh my God,” I said with a laugh, looking at my glittery hands and arms. “How long will this last?”

“An hour or two,” Candy said with a pleased grin.

Shitty Ritchie decided it was time to make his move. “Speaking of sperm donation.”

“Umm… we weren’t speaking of sperm donation. Definitelynotspeaking about sperm donation,” I said, squinting warily at him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied then kept going. He skipped across the room to, twinkling like a shooting star on a collision course with death. “Dearest Immortal lesbian!” The tiny idiot bowed to her. “I have an exciting offer to make!”

She was appalled. She knew where this was going. All of us did. But there was no stopping Shitty Ritchie when he was on a roll.

“I would like to offer you a rare and splendid gift,” he told her with a few jazz squares thrown in to show he meant business. “While I don’t want to usurp Tim’s offer of his turkey baster filled with little swimmers, I would like to offer my jizz to you and Missy for perhaps a second child. It’s my fondest dream, along with sticking it to the HigherPower, to have a little Ritchie or Ritchina running around. I’m excellent father material and find both you and Missy very attractive. If you’d like to do it the old-fashioned way, I would not be opposed. Granted, I have never put my peepee into the love cavity before, but how hard can it be?”

I wanted to shout PUN, but I sucked that shit back fast.

Heather was speechless. I was, too. No one in the room could speak. The use of the word jizz in a sentence along with the words, turkey baster, little swimmers, peepee and love cavity was one that would live rent free in my head for a long time.

Heather closed her eyes for a long moment. It was clear she was searching for something to say that wouldn’t send Shitty Ritchie into a tornado fit.

“Well,” she said, gulping loudly. “While the rare and splendid offer is… umm… shockingly unexpected and makes me want to… umm…spewall kinds of words… I have to be upfront and say that the natural way is not an option.”

Shitty Ritchie smacked his tiny forehead. “Right! My apologies. I’d quite forgotten you and Missy are fabulous Immortal lesbians. No offense meant. The peepee shall not go near the love cavity. I will borrow a turkey baster from Tim.”

Heather pressed her temples and gave the insane dude what she probably hoped was a smile. It wasn’t. It was a pained grimace. Shitty Ritchie, not one to understand social cues or much of anything else about polite society, didn’t notice.

“That is… well, I’m not sure what that is,” Heather admitted. “But right now, Missy and I aren’t ready to have children. However, I’ll keep the offer in mind if the day ever comes… which it probably won’t. Ever. Never. Ever.”

“Should we alert Missy about the future plans?” Shitty Ritchie asked.

The man truly had selective hearing. I was pretty sure he was too old to change that.

“No,” Heather told him flatly. “I’ll handle it.”

“Excellent!” he replied and then jazz squared across the room back to his spot on the floor. “Next question?”

Tim seemed at a loss. That was no mystery since we were all still digesting what had just gone down. We needed to get back on a track that had nothing to do with sperm.

Charlie jumped in. He was still a little off kilter from Shitty Ritchie’s peepee monologue, but pulled himself together. With a pointed glance at me and then Gideon, he led us onto a new path. “I’d suggest we discuss Alana Catherine’s gifts that have emerged thus far.”

Charlie obviously had the same thoughts about the similarities between our baby and Shitty Ritchie. Crap.

---