Free Christmas Bliss by Mary Kay Andrews

whispered. “I’m just the slightest bit queasy right now. In fact, I’m just going to run along to the bathroom.”
    “Oh, pooh! You’re no fun,” Merijoy said, but she went all around the circle, passing out bottles.
    Weezie sniffed hers. “Cranberry juice. And vodka, I think.”
    “Make sure you don’t drink all that,” I said, getting to my feet. “You’re driving us home—and I’ve got a baby on board, in case you’ve forgotten.”
    “As if,” she said.
    *   *   *
    “Go, Bizzy, go,” the women were chanting as I waddled out of the powder room and into the living room. My aunt Bizzy, the same serene former president of the Charleston Junior League, was leaned backwards in her chair, sucking so hard on her baby bottle that it looked like she’d turn her cheeks inside out.
    “Go, go, go,” my cousins chanted, their own bottles forgotten. The other women in the circle were still delicately sipping and sucking on their own concoctions.
    Finally Bizzy held her empty bottle up for inspection. “Done,” she called breathlessly.
    “What was it?” Jeanne Marie asked. “Mine was apple juice.”
    “Not sure,” Bizzy said, her voice thick and a little woozy. “Something chocolatey.”
    “Ooh, you got the Baileys Irish Cream,” Merijoy exclaimed. “You win!”
    *   *   *
    Next, Merijoy went around the circle handing out balls of string and pairs of children’s blunt-tipped scissors.
    I glanced uneasily at Weezie, who seemed to be a font of knowledge when it came to disturbing trends in baby shower games. “I’m afraid to ask,” I whispered.
    “Uh-oh,” she said, shaking her head and laughing. “You’re for sure not gonna like this one.”
    Merijoy stopped when she got to me. “Come on, BeBe, I need you to stand up,” she ordered. I just barely managed to squeeze my feet back into my shoes before she gave me her hand, and with effort, managed to haul me out of the armchair.
    “Stand here in front of the fireplace,” she instructed. I did as I was told. Merijoy Rucker somehow has that effect on people. Even me. She rarely raises her voice, but she always gets her way.
    “Turn around. Slowly.”
    I did a slow spin, my cheeks burning.
    “Good. You can sit down now.”
    “Now, girls. You’ve all got your string and your scissors. I want you to figure out the distance around BeBe’s waist, and cut your string to that length.” She waggled her finger at my cousins. “And no fair measuring your own waist or anybody else’s. You’re just supposed to eyeball BeBe. Got it?”
    I smiled brightly. This was fun, right? Fun, fun, fun. So why was I so miserable?
    I turned to Weezie, but she wasn’t there. She was walking rapidly in the direction of the dining room, her cell phone pressed to her ear.
    I felt a hand on my elbow and turned to see that Grandmama had taken Weezie’s vacated chair.
    “It’s just a game, sugar,” she said, her voice low and soothing. “I know you don’t like the way you look right now, but no woman really feels attractive when she’s as far along as you are. Why, when I was pregnant with your daddy, the last month, I refused to leave the house.”
    She took my hand in hers and squeezed it. Her skin was cool and dry to the touch, and I could feel the ropy outline of her veins under my own fingertips, and it made me miss my own mother so keenly it nearly took my breath away.
    “I wouldn’t even sleep in the same room with your granddaddy, because I didn’t want him to see me in my nightgown,” she continued.
    “Really?” My voice was wobbly. Damned hormones.
    “Really. And for what it’s worth, I think you look lovely. You might not think so, but pregnancy suits you. Your skin and hair are so soft and shiny, you’re just beautiful.”
    “That’s what Harry keeps telling me,” I whispered.
    “I like that Harry,” she said, smiling. “I do wish you would marry him, but I promised your granddaddy I wasn’t going to pester you about this