Fed Up - By Jessica Conant-Park & Susan Conant Page 0,51

guided imagery during labor. It was typical of Naomi to have misinterpreted the gasps of horror that Adrianna emitted during the discussion as exclamations of enthusiasm. In reality, Naomi’s arguments in favor of drug-free birth had done nothing except fuel Ade’s desire for a super-strength epidural.

“What an exciting day!” Naomi was glowing with enthusiasm. “Wait until you see the gift bag I have for our mother-to-be! It’s full of aromatherapy oils that promote relaxation during labor. And all sorts of other goodies! In a bag made from natural hemp, I should add. Just like my dress.” Naomi spun around, sending her braids flying horizontally off her head while showing off her clay-colored pinafore. I ducked before I got smacked in the face but complimented her on her politically correct attire. “What a beautiful house!” she exclaimed after her three hundred sixty-degree spins.

My parents’ stucco house did look wonderful. In keeping with Adrianna’s fall theme, my mother and I had run red, orange, and brown ribbons along the traditional Spanish archways that ran between rooms on the first floor. Last year, my parents had refinished the wood floors in the large living room and had put in terra-cotta and decorative hand-painted tiles in the dining room to enhance the style of the house. The walls had been painted in soft earth colors, and at times I felt as if I were actually in New Mexico instead of in a Massachusetts suburb.

Adrianna arrived dressed entirely in hot pink, her nails painted to match her above-the-knee maternity dress and her chunky shoes. “I swear on my baby’s life that I’m going to kill my mother,” she hissed into my ear as I hugged her.

Adrianna was soon followed by her mother, Kitty, who appeared to be in deep mourning. She wore a black pantsuit with no accessories except a watch that she was already checking. Her badly tinted blonde hair hit her shoulders, where it rolled under in a perfect curl. Her expression suggested a combination of dissatisfaction and grief. Despite Kitty’s fune-real garb and air, it was hard to miss her incredible figure and easy to see where Adrianna had gotten her modelesque looks.

“Chloe, it’s lovely to see you. Where shall I put this?” Kitty held up a white gift bag.

“I’ll take it. It’s wonderful to see you, too.” Knowing that Kitty did not like to be touched, I leaned in and gave her air kisses. “I know my mother is eager to catch up with you. Why don’t you go find her in the kitchen?”

“Wonderful, darling.” Kitty brushed past me to seek out my mom.

I went to shut the door and nearly slammed it in Owen’s face. “Owen? What are you doing here?”

Poor Owen’s disheveled appearance made me suspect that Kitty had put him through the wringer since her arrival yesterday. No matter what, Owen was always incredibly handsome, but today his black hair was messy, and his fair skin had a sickly pallor.

“I drove Ade and Kitty here. I can’t leave Adrianna alone with that woman! Please let me stay.” His expression was pitiful.

“No, you can’t stay, dummy. This is a shower just for the girls. I promise I’ll mediate the Kitty situation. Ade will call you when it’s over.”

“But what if—”

“It’ll be fine,” I said as I shoved the groom-to-be out the door.

I introduced Robin and Nelson to Adrianna and then left the three of them to discuss the video.

Next to arrive were Owen’s mother, Eileen, his grandmother, Nana Sally, and his cousin Phoebe. Moments later, two women from Simmer showed up: Isabelle, a shy young cook whom Josh had taken under his wing, and Blythe, a waitress. My sister, Heather, who had let herself in the back door, deposited a gigantic box on the coffee table. Heather had curled her hair into a mass of Shirley Temple ringlets. As usual, Heather was vibrating with such energy that she made the rest of us look like slugs. The mother of a one-year-old and a five-year-old, Heather always looked as if she’d just emerged from fourteen hours of sleep followed by a trip to a spa.

“Give me a hug, Sis.” Heather wrapped me in her arms and held me tight. “So I hear that young Emilio caught your eye. Any chance you’re finally done with Josh?”

I pushed her away and glared at her. “Don’t start,” I warned her.

“Don’t get all pissy. I’m just asking.”

Unlike my parents, Heather was anything but a fan of Josh’s. Her idea of the perfect man for