Nice Girls Don't Live Forever by Molly Harper Read Free Book Online

the water glass. “I thought morning sickness was just supposed to be, well, in the morning.”
    “My ass. It’s around-the clock- ‘no-warnin’ sickness,’” she wheezed. “One minute, I’m a perfectly fine, functioning human being, and the next, I’m tossin’ up everything I’ve ever eaten.”
    “And that’s saying something,” I marveled. She glared at me. “Not helping, sorry.”
    “I threw up in the parkin’ lot at the Piggly Wiggly the other day. I had to tell Bitty Tate I was pregnant, because I didn’t want her telling everybody I’ve got a drinkin’ problem. Everything makes me sick. I ate a salad the other day, a salad, without any meat at all. I’m gonna waste away to nothin’.”
    I eyed her belly paunch, which made her look about four months along in human terms. “I wouldn’t worry about that.”
    She glared up at me. “I’m gonna hit you, just as soon as I can stand up.”
    “Fair warning.”
    “I’m so miserable,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes. “And I should be grateful that we made a baby so easily. Some mixed couples can’t, you know. And I can’t complain to my mama, because she’ll camp out here in the living room and refuse to leave until the baby is in college. And I can’t complain to Zeb, because he gets this weird, frightened-rabbit look in his eyes if I imply that I’m anythin’ but one-hundred-percent awesome. I’m just—I’m glad you’re here, Jane.”
    “Well, you look great,” I told her, pushing her hair back from her sweaty forehead. And it was true in an infuriating way. Even the sweaty glow and water retention of early pregnancy only bumped Jolene down to what would be considered gorgeous for most humans. It just wasn’t fair to the four billion or so other women on the planet. My only consolation was that eating a Ritz cracker had just made her throw up.
    “So, how’s your family?” I asked, helping her back into her chair.
    “Well, Mama’s overjoyed. Calls me six or seven times a day. She says hi, by the way. Daddy’s sort of torn between pride and the horror of knowin’ what his little girl’s been up to. I think up until now, he’d been tellin’ himself that Zeb and I were sleepin’ in bunk beds. My cousins are sort of holdin’ their breath, I think, because they know my aunts are gonna make a huge fuss because it’s my first baby. And my cousin Vance has run away with a carnival.”
    I shuddered, picturing the none-too-bright cousin with unnatural feelings for Jolene operating a Tilt-A-Whirl. “Is this one of those things where I hope that you’re kidding but assume that you’re not?” She nodded. I tried to use a nonchalant tone as I asked, “How are you and Zeb doing?”
    She sighed again. “Weird. He’s so quiet. He’s never quiet, except for when, you know, under a whammy. Oh, man, you don’t think Mama Ginger scrambled his brain again, do you?”
    “No. You know what I think?”
    “Obviously not, or we wouldn’t be havin’ this conversation,” she muttered.
    “I think Zeb’s just scared. Scared of growing up. Scared of not being able to take care of you and the … litter.” Jolene got it together enough to smack my arm. I winced, glad that bruises didn’t last long on me. “OK, think about what happens to married people with children in Zeb’s family. They end up drunk and angry and living in matching trailers in their relatives’ backyards. He’s terrified of ending up like Mama Ginger and Floyd. I think he convinced himself that he could handle the transition to husband pretty well, but what I will only refer to as his spontaneity and your superabsorbent eggs came back to bite both of you on the butt.”
    “What do I do?”
    “Stop putting ketchup on your egg rolls, for one thing. That’s gross. And maybe your family could spend less time rearranging your cabinets. Other than that, hell, I’ve never been married or pregnant. What do I know?”
    She huffed. “Well, you’re a big