Chapter 15

"I was wondering if Travis is free?" I put my hands in my pockets.

"Let me see." She turns around, going to the back, while I turn and look at the pictures that are on the wall. All different families with their pets, one family with a pet pig. I laugh thinking that I should bring this up to Presley and see if she wants to get a pet together.

"You can go on back," Petra says to me, and I nod walking down the hallway that she just came out of. "It's the last door on the right." She walks over to her desk to pick up the phone that started to ring.

"Thank you," I reply, making my way to the door and turning the handle, stepping into the room. The minute I walk in, I know that I should have called before coming. "What the fuck are you doing?" I look at him as he looks down at the dog in front of him on the big silver table. He is lying down on his side with a tube in his mouth. Travis is dressed in scrubs with plastic glasses on his face and a surgeon cap atop his head.

"I'm neutering the dog," he says, as if it’s nothing and my hand goes directly to my penis as if I'm shielding my own balls.

"You came to see me," he says, not paying attention to me. "It's not that big of a deal. I come see you at work all the time," he reasons as he plops down what I can see looks like a testicle. I put a hand to my mouth thinking I'm going to be sick.

"I'm a lawyer!" I shriek. "What do you see when you come in my office? Manila folders."

"Oh, come on," he says, tugging on something, "it's not that bad." I shake my head. "Anyway, what do I owe the pleasure of your company this fine afternoon?”

"Well, it's official," I say, smiling at him and taking the picture out of my pocket. "We are having a baby."

"Aww," Travis says, smiling at me, "I'd come and give you a hug." He holds up his arms and his gloves are covered in a bit of blood.

"I'm good, thanks." I hold up my hand and look down and see the picture again. "She's eleven weeks."

"Danger stage?" I ask him, my heartbeat speeding up with the word danger. I mean, it can't be good with that word.

"It's past the twelve-week mark," he explains to me. "Chances to miscarry happen before the twelve-week mark."

"They try not to scare you." Travis shrugs. "It's fine; you should get one of those baby books."

"What baby book?" I tilt my head to the side and almost kick myself. Why didn't I look this up online?

"I have one in my office I'll give to you," Travis says and smiles at me. "How is Presley taking all this?"

"Um." I hesitate, trying to think of the words. "Well, she wanted a second opinion."

"I think she was in shock, finding out she was further along than she thought she was." I smirk. "These change everything." I hold up the paper.

"It sure fucking does." Travis looks at me.

"I thought you should also know that she's in the middle of telling your mother about it right now." His eyes almost bug out of his head.

"Fuck, I wanted to be there for that," he hisses. "My mother is going to lose her shit."

"She's going to be fine."

"I really hope Clarabella tapes it," Travis says. "Maybe we can catch some of the screaming on the Ring cam that I installed."

"There will be no screaming." I try to convince myself of that, but knowing Mrs. Baker, there will be screaming, there will be crying, and hopefully she doesn't come over to my house with the frying pan she used to threaten us with when we were younger. "She's going to be fine." I smirk at him. "Besides, after what the three of you did to her with your weddings, this is going to be a walk in the park."

"Oh, you poor son of a bitch." Travis shakes his head and looks down at the dog, doing I don't even know what now. "You think that it's going to be easy." He chuckles. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to ask her to move in with me," I inform him, and Travis's eyes go big. "Officially."

"Is there an unofficial way to ask someone to move in with you?" he jokes with me.

"She sneaks out of my house every single time she's there." For the first time ever, I say it out loud, "And I'm tired of it." My voice trails off and I look down at the picture of the baby, our baby. "I want her and the baby to be with me always."

"I mean, she can't sneak out of your house with a baby." Travis points at me. "I don't know what she is going to say, to be honest." He shakes his head. "What if she says no?"

"Well, whatever you need from me." He grabs the needle next to him. "Just let me know." He starts to stitch up the dog.

"I'm going to go home and cook her favorite meal," I say, starting to formulate a plan.

"Didn't you cook for her a couple of days ago and she threw up?" My mouth opens as I look at him. "Nothing is sacred."

"Apparently not," I huff. "Okay, I have to go and maybe pick up some flowers and woo the shit out of her." Just saying the words out loud I feel like I'm going to throw up. "I'm going to get out of here”—I point at the door—"and leave you with…" I point at the dog.

"Buster." Travis fills me in on the dog's name.

"Buster"—I lean down—"it's going to be all right." Travis just laughs.

"Call me later and tell me how it went," Travis tells me when I turn and grab the handle of the door. "I'll say a prayer for you."

"I know that your sister likes me at least." I look over my shoulder at him and he just smirks. "A little."

"I meant for my mother," he retorts, and I flip him the bird before walking out of the room. When I walk down the hallway, Petra is on the phone, so I just hold up my hand and walk out.

"I'm thinking I need some roses, maybe?" I scratch my neck. "Peonies are her favorite flowers,” I inform the lady, who doesn't need to know any of this.

"We just got some fresh peonies"—she points to the right—"in a variety of colors." She walks over to the five big plastic bins.

"Do peonies scream move in with me?" I ask, looking over at her and she just laughs at me. "I was thinking more like roses," I tell her. "Roses everywhere and then some rose petals sprinkled on the floor."

"That could work also." She walks over to what looks like a field of roses. Rows and rows of roses in all different colors.

"Is there a particular color that goes with move in with me?" I ask her, taking out my phone and getting ready to google it.

"Oh, honey, if you are this nervous about asking her to move in with you"—she laughs at me—"can you imagine when it's time to get down on one knee?"

"Oh, I would do that also," I tell her, "but figured I'd ease into it."

"That sounds like a great idea." She smiles at me. "How about you get some peonies since it's her favorite?” She points back to the peonies. "And then some roses to sprinkle throughout the house."

"That sounds even better than my plan." I snap my fingers. "So I'll take all the peonies." I turn back to the lady whose mouth is now hanging open. "And then let's go for about, what do you think, a hundred roses?"