Free Girls Only: Moms' Night Out by Selena Kitt Page A

the appetizers. And if you can’t have drinks, at least you can pig out on
those, since you’re burning an extra thousand calories a day!”
    “Okay.”
Jaime brightened, turning toward the mirror and adjusting her sports bra over
the mounds of her breasts before reaching for the glittery black top hanging on
a hook behind the bathroom door. “Let’s get this party started!”
    “That’s my
girl.” Caroline grinned, nodding in approval as Jaime slipped her top on. Both
women startled when Jaime’s apartment intercom buzzer sounded. “And there’s our
babysitter!”
    Jaime dabbed
at her wet eyes with Kleenex. “Can you get it?”
    “Sure.”
    The
30-free-days of supersitters.com had paid off.  Jeanie was not much older than
the two young mothers, maybe late 20’s, but she was all Nanny and the Professor…calm,
warm and organized—minus the British accent.
    The babies were
asleep in what passed for the nursery of Jaime’s two-bedroom apartment, with
Caroline’s little man, eighteen-month-old Kyle, asleep in the pack’n’play—hopefully
for the night. The twins, of course, would be up to eat again and Jeanie called
off her checklist, double checking the supply of Jaime’s pumped milk in the fridge,
as Caroline and Jaime finished getting ready for Moms’ Night Out—the first one
they’d been able to afford since joining the Mommy and Me group, and then only
because they had pooled their money for a sitter.
    As the two
young mothers said good-bye-thank-you’s and ran out the door ten minutes late
they turned around for each other to check hair, face, butt, legs and shoes,
but they forgot to double check for the portable breast pump Caroline had
brought in her purse. Jaime’s breast pump was a Craig’s List model, in great
shape, and okay for lunchtime at the elementary school where she taught, but
far too big for a Moms’ Night Out at Olive Garden. There it sat on Jaime’s bed
in a pile of unchosen skirts and stockings as the door clacked closed.
    Neither of
them realized it until their entrees arrived, the restaurant packed, their
table of ten women chattering and laughing louder than most. Caroline was on
her third margarita—since Jaime couldn’t drink and served as the perfect
designated driver—and she was feeling it, her face flushed, her skin tingling.
That’s when Jaime leaned over and whispered, “I’m leaking,” and Caroline
checked her purse for the pump, shaking her head, wide-eyed with dismay, when
she came up empty-handed, and both women sat, open-mouthed, blinking at each
other in disbelief.
    “Everything
okay?” Nicki asked, eyes slanting as she watched Jaime slip out of her chair.
Nicki was the head of their Mommy and Me group and ran it like a cross between
a military operation and American Idol. There was an interview process to get
in, and once accepted, you had to commit to two functions per month, or you
were tossed out.
    “Just a
bathroom break.” Caroline watched her friend threading her way through the
tables. It was her fault Jaime was in this mess and she felt awful. Not only
that, but if they had to go home early, both of them might get tossed out of
the group. Did half a night count, she wondered?
    Caroline
stood, dropping her napkin onto her chair. “Be right back.”
    She found
Jaime in the bathroom, as she’d expected, locked into one of the stalls.
Caroline knocked. Olive Garden had completely private stalls, which she
remembered well from nursing Kyle. She used to be too shy to breastfeed in
public and would only come to the Olive Garden for dinner whenever the
opportunity arose because they had such ample bathroom privacy. Of course, it
wasn’t easy balancing on a toilet to feed a baby, but beggars couldn’t be
choosers. Caroline smiled at the memory of her anxiety about public nursing. By
the time Kyle was eight months and old enough to lift her shirt, she would whip
it out anywhere.
    “Sweetie?
It’s me. Open up.”
    The lock
slid over and the door