Marital Bitch by JC Emery Page A

James graduated from the academy.
    “Sissy!” Alex shouts, spotting Lilly and Brad across the room.
    “Hey Monster, you want a cookie?” I ask. Alex’s eyes grow wide and he grins up at me. I love Lilly and Fitz is such a cute baby, but Alex is my favorite. I know I shouldn’t be playing favorites, but I can’t help it. Since the day he started crawling, he’s been a terror. Alex will climb on anything and anyone he can get his little hands on. I didn’t think much of it when Darla told me she was pregnant with him; but then the day he was born, I got it. I understood that maternal tug. I had never and have never been as jealous of another human being as I was of Darla the day that Alex was born.
    “C ookie!” he chants, bouncing on my hip. Brad looks up and sees us approaching. He grins at us and chomps on a large cookie of his own.
    ”Husband,” I giggle when I say it and I’m not sure why. But it feels right. He lights up.
    “Wife,” he says with a nod and leans in kissing me on top of my head. I hand Alex a chocolate chip cookie and take a good look at us. With Brad holding Lilly in his arms and Alex on my hip, we look like a real family. Brad wipes chocolate off of Lilly’s face and cleans his finger off on his pants without a second thought. He isn’t the slightest bit worried about walking around with chocolate on his clothes. I look down at Alex covered in chocolate and suddenly I don’t care about getting messy, either. Here with Brad, surrounded by our family and friends; I’m starting to think that I want this; that after everything, I might really want this.
    THE PARTY WINDS down and slowly but surely, our nearest and dearest trickle out. Our parents are the last ones to go. I should be a little disturbed and grossed out that my dad high-fives Brad, but I’m not. Any other guy and my dad would refuse to leave the house and stand guard the bedroom with a shot gun. But this is Brad and though he remains mostly silent on the subject, my dad couldn’t be happier. Emily and Louise are disgustingly giddy on their way out.
    They each rub my stomach for good luck. Brad slaps my butt and shuts the door behind them. When they’re far enough away, I turn to glare at him. The playful honeymooner’s thing is wearing on me. The butt slaps are starting to awake my hormones and it is better off I not go there. And all day, every time someone mentioned kids or I saw Brad with someone’s kid, my ovaries nearly exploded. I need to deal with my frustration in one way or another and kicking the Ball & Chain’s ass right now seems like a fairly effective means of letting off some steam.
    “You better run,” I seethe. He throws his hands up in the air and backs away from me. I take a quick jump at him but I’m not watching where I’m going. My foot catches on our luggage, which has mysteriously found its way into the house, and I fall flat on my face. Brad rushes over and peels me off the hardwood floor.
    “Oh, pretty girl,” he says, standing, with me cradled to his chest. I will admit that I’m surprised that he is able to lift me so easily and how hard his body feels next to mine. He always looked so plush to me. “What the hell are you trying to do, hurt yourself?”
    I huff, un-amused. I was going for intimidating and instead I wound up with pathetic. “Okay,” he mutters, “I know this game. You’re embarrassed so you’re going to be silent. That’s fine. It’s late.” He walks up the stairs, me still in his arms, and takes me to his bedroom. If I weren’t so embarrassed and annoyed that he kn ows me so well I would protest.
    He’s taking me into his bedroom. Thankfully, I know him well enough to feel comfortable in here. His spare room doesn’t have a bed, just a pool table.
    “Thanks,” I say as he sits me on his bed. I look at his bedside alarm clock to find that it is indeed late. The clock reads 11 p.m. I yawn and kick my shoes off and crawl under the covers. Brad walks to his