‹ Prequel: In the End
Status: Hiatus.
Worry Rock
Strawberries?
I rolled over in bed, switching from lying with my back to my husband to facing him on my side. His eyes were firmly shut while his mouth hung open where soft snores escaped. I lifted my head from its position on my pillow to glance at the clock behind me. 3:27. I hesitated as I lied back down and bit my lip, trying to force myself to go back to sleep. My eyes snapped open again.
I wonder how mad he’d be.
I sighed to myself and decided not to wake Billie Joe up just yet. Instead, I pulled myself out of the comfortable bed and grabbed a sweater before heading downstairs. When the air conditioner had been running all day and all night, the large house got incredibly cold. However, if I went to turn it down or off, the house would feel like an oven again. The only choice was to freeze or bake and during the summer, we preferred to freeze.
I walked down the hallway, down the stair cases and down into the kitchen as I zipped up the sweater that I had stolen from my husband. Considering his clothes were a size bigger than mine, all of his clothes were incredibly comfortable. I stepped into the kitchen and sighed softly, rubbing my baby bump. Zachary Andrew Armstrong. There was a nice ring to it.
However, there was also a nice ring to Savannah Alexandra Armstrong, though I was almost positive that the name wouldn’t come to any use despite how much I did like it.
“Pickles,” I mumbled to myself as I pulled open the refrigerator door. “Pickles, pickles, pickles.”
I moved a few things aside in the fridge, looking for a jar of pickles and anything else that would taste good with them. Billie Joe liked pickles, and I’m sure Sydney liked them, too, so despite the fact that when I wasn’t pregnant I hated them I knew we should have some. I continued to chant pickles as I searched our fridge, thinking of what else could go with them.
Ice cream?
I licked my lips, now not only looking for pickles, but for chocolate ice cream. If I hadn’t had such a craving, I probably would have stopped and gagged at the combination. But at the moment, I couldn’t imagine anything better.
I scowled to myself, closing the freezer as I remembered that my husband had finished it off earlier that night. Damnit, damnit, damnit, damnit.
I continued to scowl as I left the kitchen and made my way into the garage where there was a second freezer, and searched through that with no avail. “Damnit, Billie Joe,” I scowled to myself.
After a few more minutes of searching for something—anything that could pass as pickles and/or ice cream, I gave up. I looked up at the digital clock in the microwave to see that it now read 3:58. Thirty minutes would make a difference in his attitude, wouldn’t it? He wouldn’t be as grumpy as if I asked him at 3:30, would he? I watched the clock until it turned to 4:00 and then headed upstairs so that he couldn’t snap at me and say I woke him up at three. When I got up to the cold bedroom, I pushed the door closed behind me and crawled onto the bed next to where my husband still lay sound asleep.
My hand hovered over his bare arm as I thought one last time if I should wake him up or not. I almost decided to let him sleep and to lie back down and sleep, but I decided against it once I began to think more of the pickles and ice cream that I had had such a craving for. Besides, it’s not like I’m the one that ate them.
“Billie?” I whispered as I gently placed my hand on his arm, right over one of the stars inked into it. “Billie, baby?” Billie Joe mumbled a bunch of incoherent words and then snored loudly, turning to lie on his stomach. I groaned. “Billie Joe, wake up.”
“Joe, go to sleep.” His voice was barely understandable, but I managed to catch those words.
“I’m not tired.”
I heard Billie Joe sigh loudly, his head turned so that it wasn’t facing me. He groaned just like I had a few seconds ago. “Just count sheep. Close your eyes and count sheep backwards.”
Billie Joe had told me multiple times on tour that most nights after a concert where he felt the adrenaline rush or when I wasn’t there and he didn’t feel like getting trashed, he would lie in bed and count sheep backwards from 200 and most of the time by 105 he’d be asleep. I’d tried it a few times and it had worked just as affectively for me.
“No, but I’m just not tired—Billie, I’m hungry.”
“Jesus Christ, Joe, what time is it?”
I hesitated. “Four.” Billie Joe groaned again and swatted me away from him. He turned over onto his side with his back facing me, pulled the blanket that he had kicked aside earlier around him and exhaled as he dozed off again. “Billie,” I mumbled as I placed my hand back on his arm. “Billie, I’m really hungry.”
“So what the fuck do you want me to do about it, Joe?” He growled, “do you want me to fuckin’ become a chef and make you a gourmet meal or something?”
Rule 1 of marriage to Billie Joe Armstrong: Never wake him up, especially if it’s for anything other than sex.
“Actually,” I started, disregarding his grumpiness, “I’m really craving ice cream and pickles. We happen to have neither.”
“So go to sleep for now and in the morning I’ll go to the store and get them.”
I rolled my eyes. “I can do it in the morning. And if I could wait until morning, I wouldn’t be waking you up.”
“Joe, we’re going to LA tomorrow. On the way we’ll stop and you can fucking buy the whole goddamn store if you’d like. Buy anything—pickles, ice cream, cake, lemons, chocolate—all you can fucking eat. Just right now, let me go to fuckin’ sleep. You don’t need pickles right now.”
I scowled and took my hand from his arm as I stood up from the bed. I changed from my pajama shorts that I had been sleeping in to a pair of sweat pants and took my husband’s sweater off leaving me in just a tank top. Upon hearing the rustling from me changing, Billie Joe groaned inwardly and turned onto his back to see what I was doing. He cracked an eye open slowly and then just as slowly sat up in the bed. I didn’t look at him as I grabbed my satchel bag from the dresser a few feet away from the bed and checked my wallet to make sure I had money. “God damnit,” I heard him hiss. “Joe! Joe, get back in bed!”
I stalked down the hallway, down the stairs, through the house and to the front door, the whole way hearing Billie Joe thundering after me down the stairs, thorough the lounge and into the entryway. He grabbed onto my wrist as I was turning the knob of the door to leave. I turned to face him and was quickly slammed up against the door; making the few inches I had gotten it open to slam shut. “I’m hungry,” I stated simply.
Despite the crappy mood that had controlled Billie Joe’s words and motions, he laughed at that. Billie Joe sighed softly and nuzzled his nose against mine, kissing me softly. “Are you sure you checked everywhere for pickles and ice cream?”
I nodded while I wrapped my arms around my husband’s bare torso. “Everywhere.”
“The freezer in the garage?” I nodded. Instead of taking my word for it, Billie Joe took me by the hand into the kitchen where he pulled the metal door to the fridge open. I perched myself on the stool at the island and watched as his boxer clad self looked throughout the whole fridge for a jar of pickles that seemed to be non-existent. Finally, Billie Joe stood up and turned to face me, a wide grin on his face as he held up a jar of pickles. “I told you.”
I hopped up from my place on the stool and giggled furiously when Billie Joe handed the jar to me. I placed my hand on the back of his head, threading my fingers through his hair and kissed his lips gratefully. “Thank you!” I squealed as I bounced back to the stool I had previously been sitting on. Billie Joe sighed and ran a hand over his unshaven face as he followed me over to the counter and sat down next to me, resting his head on the cool marble. “You should go to bed,” I stated after I took a bite from the pickle that I was holding. “We’ve got a long drive tomorrow.”
I took another bite, but instead of hearing the crunch of the pickle, I heard the sound of Billie Joe’s teeth grinding together. I cocked an eyebrow at him, not able to speak because my mouth was full. “You’re so fucking lucky I don’t just bite you right now.”
I snorted loudly and swallowed before I spoke. “What? What have I done?”
Billie Joe scowled as he closed his eyes. “Joe, you fuckin’ woke me up at four AM to ask for what? Pickles. Pickles! And now, after nearly storming out of the house to go get some, you tell me to go to sleep because we’ve got a long drive later.” He scowled again. “Oh, I really could bite you right now.”
There was a short silence in the kitchen before I burst into a fit of giggles, finding the situation much more amusing than my husband. “Hey, this is partly your fault, too, Armstrong,” I pointed out; “if it wasn’t for your penis I wouldn’t be pregnant. So you pretty much owe me the pickles.”
My husband sighed into his multicolored arms deeply, as if to calm himself down. I felt the urge to ask him if he was going through sympathy pregnancy, only the only symptoms he was getting was the mood swings. But I decided to bite my tongue, knowing that the attitude I was getting was just from Billie Joe being woken up at four in the morning. Instead of picking out another pickle, I turned and leant closer to my husband. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and pressed my lips against his check, right above where his beard had began. Billie Joe lifted his head from where it rested in his arms and kissed my nose. “I am going back to bed, though. Are you sure your food crisis is over?”
I nodded as I grabbed one more pickle and shut the jar. “Okay, I’ll go with you. Let me put these back.”
Billie Joe twitched.
+++
Upon hearing that Christopher, Sydney’s boyfriend, would be on the East Coast in Florida for the same week that we’d be in LA, my husband told Sydney that she could invite a friend of hers to stay with us for the week as long as it was alright with their parents.
And what would explain why currently, there were two females giggling from the back seat of the Lexus as Billie Joe scowled and swore at the people on the highway. “Billie Joe,” I mumbled without tearing my eyes away from the screen of my iPhone, “chill out. You’re going to pop the blood vessel in your eye again.”
“Well if these fucking people would learn how the fuck to drive!” Billie Joe snarled, flailing his arms at the cars around us. “I wouldn’t have to be fucking stressed! Is this like a fucking highway full of goddamn sixteen and eighty year olds?! Jesus Christ! You can fucking drive faster than five fucking miles per hour, dipshit!”
I heard a bunch of giggles from the back seat and turned around to face Sydney and Tiffany, who had one bud of their earphones hanging from their ear as they listened to Sydney’s fathers’ road rage. I sighed. “Don’t encourage him,” I stated, “he’ll only just yell more. Just turn your iPods up and pay no attention to him. It’s the only way I get by.”
Billie Joe scowled at what I was telling the two teenagers from the driver’s seat. “Would you like to drive?” He snapped.
I rolled my eyes as I twisted back around in my seat so that I was facing forward. “Well, god knows I wouldn’t be screaming like a mad man and swearing like a trucker. And I wouldn’t be trying to run people off the road.”
“These people don’t know how the fuck to drive! With the fucking price of gas now these fucking idiots should be at home! Goddamnit,--” The car stopped short and I scowled, grabbing onto the arm rest. “Move, you fucking idiot!” Billie Joe pushed the horn.
“Alright,” I snapped, “next time you have to get gas, we’re going to switch. You’re either going to kill us all or launch yourself into an anxiety attack. It’s rush hour, darling. We’re starting to get closer to LA. Do tell me what you expect other than this?”
Billie Joe continued to scowl at people and ignored everything I said other than switching at a gas station. “Good,” he snapped, “we’re getting to empty anyway. I’ll get off at the next exit—if we ever fucking get there!”
I sighed again and went back to my phone, plugging my ear phones in like the two girls to drown out my husband until we were able to get out of the traffic.
Billie Joe slid out of the Lexus and closed the door behind him, immediately taking his pack of cigarettes from his shorts’ pockets and went to light one up. Billie Joe usually never smoked when inside a car, but now there wasn’t even a slight chance that he would since Sydney and Tiffany were in the back while I was next to him in the passenger’s seat pregnant. I turned around in the seat to look at Sydney and her friend after opening the door. “Would you two like anything?” I asked.
“Arizona Iced Tea?” Sydney asked.
I nodded and looked over to Tiff, who was pulling her purse open to get her wallet. I chuckled. “Don’t worry about it, darling. I wouldn’t make you pay for a drink. Whattya want?”
Tiff grinned nervously. “Oh, uh, thanks. The same thing as Sydney, please.”
I nodded again, grabbed my purse and got out of the black vehicle, closing the door behind me. I looked up at my husband and watched as he leant against the car, still puffing away at his cigarette. I walked over to him and placed an arm on his back, lifting his sunglasses from over his eyes as I peered up at him through my own. “I’m going inside. Do you want anything?” Billie Joe pushed me away lightly and at first I felt slightly hurt, but then realized it was because he was smoking a cigarette. I rolled my eyes. “Being around you smoking once in a while won’t kill me or the baby, Beej. Besides, you’ve got a more chance of killing us with smoking in a gas station.”
“So let the whole goddamn place blow up, I need this.”
I cocked an eyebrow and bit my bottom lip, subconsciously placing my hand on my growing stomach. I understood he was in a crappy mood from lack of sleep and the grid lock, but the statement burned slightly. “Thanks, Bill.”
Billie Joe winced, feeling the ice from my tone. “Joe, I didn’t mean it like that.”
Without any response, I turned and walked into the gas station to buy the drinks for Sydney and Tiffany and whatever I currently craved. Just because I wasn’t begging Billie Joe for something to eat didn’t mean the cravings weren’t there, it just meant that I hadn’t let myself think about them as much. Chocolate. I never got my damn ice cream.
As I was searching through the freezers in the back of the store, I heard the bell of the door opening to the small building. I took no notice of it at first until I felt a pair of arms wrap around my waist and a head place itself on my shoulder. “What are you looking at?”
I smirked to myself. Despite all the mistakes Billie Joe had made, one of the best things about him was the fact that he knew [most of the time] when he was wrong and [usually] kissed my ass and apologized. I didn’t know many other men who did that. Because of that, I decided not to hold a grudge. “Um,” I began, “I honestly don’t know. I want chocolate, but I don’t want chocolate milk. And I want something sweet to drink, but I don’t want juice. Mountain Dew? No. Do they have strawberries or anything strawberry flavored?”
Billie Joe chuckled at my rambling of food that I currently wanted as he straightened himself up though he didn’t remove his arms from around me. “Can you grab me a root beer?” I opened the freezer door and grabbed an A&W root beer for my husband and handed it to him, forcing him to take on hand from my stomach though he still kept both arms wrapped around me. He kissed my cheek. “Thanks. What do the girls want? Anything?”
“Arizona iced tea,” I stated simply, still trying to decide what I wanted most at the minute.
Billie Joe nodded and un-latched himself from me to go find two bottles of iced tea for the two teenagers that were still in the car. I, however, still kept staring at the freezers. “Mountain Dew,” I repeated to myself, “code red? Sprite?” I growled in frustration and glared down at my stomach. “This is your fault.”
After another ten minutes of me trying to decide while my husband tried his best to help [even though it’s almost impossible for anyone to help a pregnant woman] I had grabbed two drinks, and after purchasing it, shoved food in my purse. I was becoming hungry every few hours now. I pulled open the door to the driver’s seat and slid in since I refused to let Billie Joe drive anymore. I turned around and handed the girls the bag with the drinks only to find Sydney eyeing my oddly with a cocked eyebrow. I cocked an eyebrow back at her. “What’s wrong?”
I felt her eyes travel up and down my body as I looked at her in confusion. She hesitated and then shook her head. “Nothing, I was just wondering why you two took so long.”
Before I could speak, the passenger’s side door opened and Billie Joe piled in with one hand on the left side of his sunglasses as if to hold them into place and the other holding his drink and a pack of gum while a large grin had spread over his face. According to him, chewing gum was the only real way to keep his mind off of smoking for long periods of time—of course, he added, with the exception of sleeping, eating and sex. “It was because your mother doesn’t know what she wants in life,” he stated with a smirk playing on his lips. He then raised his voice to a higher pitch and gave himself a slight lisp, as if impersonating a female. “Billie, should I get the Mountain Dew or should I get the Vanilla Pepsi? Oh, Cherry Coke! I love cherries. Strawberries? Do they have strawberries? Billie, what drink has strawberries? Hmm, Mountain Dew? Strawberries?”
I scowled loudly as I twisted back around in my seat and punched my husband’s arm. He cackled, while at the same time nursed his arm. I shot him the ‘you’re so not getting laid tonight’ look. Billie Joe continued to grin as he lifted his sunglasses up to wink at me and kissed the air like all of the jerks in most movies did. I rolled my eyes and turned the ignition.
+++
The rest of the ride to the city was quiet, due to the fact that Billie Joe was no longer screaming obscenities at the other drivers on the road while flipping them off. Instead, he was passed out sound asleep in the seat next to me with his head rolled to the side—which looked completely uncomfortable. However, my husband seemed to do a good job at sleeping in terribly uncomfortable positions. I hesitated as I parked the car, almost not wanting to wake him after waking him this morning and pissing him off for food.
But, he had the keys so unless I was going to somehow dig my hand into his pocket without waking him, there was no choice.
I placed my hand back on the arm that I had early this morning, my fingers on a few of the stars as I gently shook his body. Billie Joe hummed in response and then lifted his right hand to push my hand from his left arm. “I’ll get you pickles in the morning, Joe,” he mumbled, “you’ll live without them for now.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Billie, darling, that was over twelve hours ago. I don’t want pickles right now. I just want your keys.”
Billie Joe still refused to open his eyes, meaning that he was for the most part, still asleep. “No, you’re not taking my Mercedes. I told you.”
Subconsciously I rolled my eyes. “Well then I guess it’s a good thing we’re driving the Lexus and I need the keys for our Los Angeles penthouse.”
The still-half asleep rock star shifted in his seat to allow easy access into his pants pocket. I rolled my eyes again as I figured that he was going to make me reach in and take them out and so I did. “You’re not going to come in with me?” I asked. “It’s been your house longer than mine, and well, unless you want me to carry in all the luggage and strain myself--,”
“Nonsense,” Billie Joe croaked. “No stress. I’ll just—just do it later.” He yawned and waved a hand in front of his mouth.
For the first time, my husband cracked his eyes open and looked around. He yawned again and lifted his hand to run through his shaggy brown hair as he pressed his face against the tinted window, looking around. Upon hearing the driver’s side door close, Billie Joe groaned inwardly and opened his door. He looked back to see that the two girls were passed and using each other for pillows before he slid out of his seat, chuckling at the two teenagers. The forty-six year old opened up the back hatch of the small SUV and groaned as he looked at all the bags before slowly pulling two out of the large pile.
I on the other hand had already opened the home and was currently turning on the Air Conditioner and fans. When I had first opened the door to the home, I had nearly had a stroke from the amount of heat that came flying out at me from it as if I was opening an oven. Billie Joe stepped into the house a few minutes after me and set down three suitcases by the door. “Jesus Christ is it hot in here. Did I leave the fuckin’ oven on last time I was here? Joe, be careful. I think I smell fried baby.”
I laughed as I paced back over to my husband, who instantly placed both hands on my stomach and kissed my lips. I grinned as I pushed his sunglasses from his dark eyes. “That’s not funny. My baby isn’t frying.”
Billie Joe chuckled and I watched as his eyes followed my hand that I had pulled away from him currently, holding his sunglasses. “Well, before our babydoes fry from this, I say we wake the girls up to let them freshen up and then go out to eat and by the time we get back, our kick-ass AC should have made this place pretty cool.”
I nodded slowly and placed his sunglasses on my head. “I’m hungry,” I stated.
My husband laughed. “Are you ever anything but?”
I scowled loudly. “Shut up, it’s not my fault. I’ve got a human being growing inside of me. And besides, you eat just as much as me and as far as I know you’re not pregnant.”
“Hey, hey watch it. I’m a growing boy.”
“Oh good. I was scared that you’d stay this height forever.”
Billie Joe whacked my arm. I giggled as I went to go wake up the sleeping girls that were still in the back of the car.
+++
It was around 12am that Billie Joe Armstrong and I could be found sacked out on the couch, the TV still on with the volume on mute. I had woken up a few minutes ago, however, having the strong urge to pee. All I really found myself doing lately was eating, sleeping, peeing and having mood swings. However, thankfully, the mood swings weren’t nearly as bad as they were going to be after about six or seven months.
When I returned from the bathroom, Billie Joe was now spread out across the couch with one leg and arm hanging off the side while the rest of his body was on it. His mouth hung open and a line of drool escaped the side while he snored. I giggled to myself as I sat down on the limited space of the couch I now had and gently shook him awake just as I had done the night before, however this was for different reasons. “Baby, wake up,” I cooed.
Billie Joe groaned and with his eyes still closed, he lifted his hand and wiped the drool from his mouth on the back of his arm. He groaned again in disgust at the saliva. “The movie is over?” He croaked.
I laughed. “The movie ended like an hour ago. I’m not sure how long you made it, but I passed out within the first like, ten minutes I think.”
My husband smirked. “Wuss.” He paused and thought. “Actually, come to think of it, I think I passed out within the first five.” He shrugged as he sat up. “Another failed attempt to watch a movie before bed without falling asleep.”
I giggled at that and went to stand up. I looked down at Billie Joe to see him looking past me with a cocked eyebrow. I turned around to see Sydney standing in the doorway, fidgeting with her Nantucket rope bracelet. I mirrored my husbands’ expression as I cocked an eyebrow. “Sydney?” I questioned.
Our daughter nodded and stepped closer to us, now being illuminated by the television. “Uhh…yeah, I thought I heard voices,” she stumbled through her words, “so, I, uh, I wanted to come down and talk to you.”
For a moment I began to wonder if Sydney and Tiffany were planning on sneaking out that night, but I doubted it for the most part after I saw her attire—a tank top and pajama bottoms. Her jewelry was off of her as was her makeup and her hair was pulled up into a messy bun.
However, thankfully, my husband and I seemed to be thinking the same thing. The only difference was Billie Joe didn’t hesitate to ask. “Are you planning on sneaking out?”
Sydney’s eyes widened as she stared at us in confusion and slight terror at what we were accusing her of. “What? No! Why do you think that? Does it look like I’m planning on sneaking out?”
“I used to sneak out all the time,” Billie Joe stated without taking his eyes off of his daughter, “I know how that shit works, Syd. You come downstairs or wherever your parents are and just say you’re seeing if they’re alright, or that you were getting a glass of water. Once you see they’re asleep or going to sleep, you run back up, change and sneak out. Those were my teenage years, Sydney.” Billie Joe looked up at me as he shifted on the touch so that he was sitting up now, hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees while he looked threateningly at our daughter. “Your mother did, too. We both know just about every way to get out at night. Don’t try to pull--,”
“Dad!” Sydney cried out before her father could keep on ranting, “I’m not going to sneak out! I actually wanted to talk to the two of you, but I didn’t want to do it in front of Tiff and now she’s asleep and you two are awake. I’m not sneaking out, so just chill, okay?”
The growl that rumbled in my husband’s throat went unnoticed by Sydney, though I had sat down next to him and gently rubbed his back to calm him down. Call me too trusting, but I believed our daughter. I didn’t figure she was stupid enough to sneak out into Los Angeles at only fourteen, anyway. “What’s bothering you?” I asked while still continuing to rub Billie Joe’s back.
Yes, Sydney was a good teenager, meaning she spoke to her father and I all the time. However, she was still a teenager and talking about personal things like it seemed she wanted to do now was rare, especially when coming to find us during the night to do so.
Sydney sat down on the love seat across from us. She sighed and hunched forward just how he father was sitting, though only leaning on one elbow because she was using her other hand to scratch the back of her neck—a nervous habit that she had picked up from her father. Once seeing her start to fidget, I started to do it myself. Billie Joe chuckled at that and in return, he rubbed my back now and gently massaged my shoulder with one hand.
“Alright,” Sydney started. She laughed slightly, “okay, now this may sound completely stupid, so like, I give you both full permission to totally laugh at me. I won’t be mad.”
Billie Joe shrugged. “I’d do it anyway, but thanks, Syd.”
Sydney rolled her eyes at her father and sighed. “Okay, I really don’t know how to say this without totally making it all awkward. But like, I don’t know,” she paused, “okay. Today, on the way here—well, it hasn’t only been just today now that I think of it, but like, recently. just today it really stood out.”
My husband sighed. “Am I ever going to be able to get to bed tonight?” I whacked him and he chuckled.
Sydney scowled. “Shut up, dad. I don’t know how to explain this.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, well, today when we were at the gas station Tiff,well, uh, well, she and I were watching you two when you were obviously disagreeing outside when dad was smoking, And well, you put your hand on your stomach. And well, I didn’t really think of it of course. But then Tiff asked me if you were pregnant. She said she noticed that you seemed to have a bump that her mother had when she was pregnant with her little sister, who’s now two, so she remembers. Like, she didn’t want to say anything because she didn’t want to be rude and she was just wondering. And well, I never noticed it until now. Like, when dad went into the gas station after you and his hands were also on your stomach. And then before, when I came down to get a class of water and you two were asleep—dads hand was on your stomach.” She took a deep breath. “And well, I was thinking about it, and you do it a lot now. And you’ve been eating a lot lately, like, I heard you two talking last night about pickles at four in the morning, and then mom got a few drinks from the station.” She paused again.
Had it not been for my husband’s hand on my shoulder, I’m pretty sure I would have fainted. I had been dreading to tell Sydney anything about the pregnancy and now she was figuring it out. I leant back against my husband’s body and sighed deeply as Billie Joe moved his hand to the arm farthest from him and began to draw imaginary circles there.
“Like I said, you two can totally laugh at me…or not. I’m just wondering, because it all seems to kinda seem like you, uh, you know, are—are, um, well--,” she groaned, obviously at loss for words.
“Pregnant?” Billie Joe finished for her.
Sydney’s eyes ran back and forth from her father and I as she nodded. “Yeah. I was just, y’know, wondering if you are by any chance, err…pregnant?” When neither Billie Joe nor I answered right away, Sydney laughed nervously. “Like I said, you two can totally laugh at me.”
I wonder how mad he’d be.
I sighed to myself and decided not to wake Billie Joe up just yet. Instead, I pulled myself out of the comfortable bed and grabbed a sweater before heading downstairs. When the air conditioner had been running all day and all night, the large house got incredibly cold. However, if I went to turn it down or off, the house would feel like an oven again. The only choice was to freeze or bake and during the summer, we preferred to freeze.
I walked down the hallway, down the stair cases and down into the kitchen as I zipped up the sweater that I had stolen from my husband. Considering his clothes were a size bigger than mine, all of his clothes were incredibly comfortable. I stepped into the kitchen and sighed softly, rubbing my baby bump. Zachary Andrew Armstrong. There was a nice ring to it.
However, there was also a nice ring to Savannah Alexandra Armstrong, though I was almost positive that the name wouldn’t come to any use despite how much I did like it.
“Pickles,” I mumbled to myself as I pulled open the refrigerator door. “Pickles, pickles, pickles.”
I moved a few things aside in the fridge, looking for a jar of pickles and anything else that would taste good with them. Billie Joe liked pickles, and I’m sure Sydney liked them, too, so despite the fact that when I wasn’t pregnant I hated them I knew we should have some. I continued to chant pickles as I searched our fridge, thinking of what else could go with them.
Ice cream?
I licked my lips, now not only looking for pickles, but for chocolate ice cream. If I hadn’t had such a craving, I probably would have stopped and gagged at the combination. But at the moment, I couldn’t imagine anything better.
I scowled to myself, closing the freezer as I remembered that my husband had finished it off earlier that night. Damnit, damnit, damnit, damnit.
I continued to scowl as I left the kitchen and made my way into the garage where there was a second freezer, and searched through that with no avail. “Damnit, Billie Joe,” I scowled to myself.
After a few more minutes of searching for something—anything that could pass as pickles and/or ice cream, I gave up. I looked up at the digital clock in the microwave to see that it now read 3:58. Thirty minutes would make a difference in his attitude, wouldn’t it? He wouldn’t be as grumpy as if I asked him at 3:30, would he? I watched the clock until it turned to 4:00 and then headed upstairs so that he couldn’t snap at me and say I woke him up at three. When I got up to the cold bedroom, I pushed the door closed behind me and crawled onto the bed next to where my husband still lay sound asleep.
My hand hovered over his bare arm as I thought one last time if I should wake him up or not. I almost decided to let him sleep and to lie back down and sleep, but I decided against it once I began to think more of the pickles and ice cream that I had had such a craving for. Besides, it’s not like I’m the one that ate them.
“Billie?” I whispered as I gently placed my hand on his arm, right over one of the stars inked into it. “Billie, baby?” Billie Joe mumbled a bunch of incoherent words and then snored loudly, turning to lie on his stomach. I groaned. “Billie Joe, wake up.”
“Joe, go to sleep.” His voice was barely understandable, but I managed to catch those words.
“I’m not tired.”
I heard Billie Joe sigh loudly, his head turned so that it wasn’t facing me. He groaned just like I had a few seconds ago. “Just count sheep. Close your eyes and count sheep backwards.”
Billie Joe had told me multiple times on tour that most nights after a concert where he felt the adrenaline rush or when I wasn’t there and he didn’t feel like getting trashed, he would lie in bed and count sheep backwards from 200 and most of the time by 105 he’d be asleep. I’d tried it a few times and it had worked just as affectively for me.
“No, but I’m just not tired—Billie, I’m hungry.”
“Jesus Christ, Joe, what time is it?”
I hesitated. “Four.” Billie Joe groaned again and swatted me away from him. He turned over onto his side with his back facing me, pulled the blanket that he had kicked aside earlier around him and exhaled as he dozed off again. “Billie,” I mumbled as I placed my hand back on his arm. “Billie, I’m really hungry.”
“So what the fuck do you want me to do about it, Joe?” He growled, “do you want me to fuckin’ become a chef and make you a gourmet meal or something?”
Rule 1 of marriage to Billie Joe Armstrong: Never wake him up, especially if it’s for anything other than sex.
“Actually,” I started, disregarding his grumpiness, “I’m really craving ice cream and pickles. We happen to have neither.”
“So go to sleep for now and in the morning I’ll go to the store and get them.”
I rolled my eyes. “I can do it in the morning. And if I could wait until morning, I wouldn’t be waking you up.”
“Joe, we’re going to LA tomorrow. On the way we’ll stop and you can fucking buy the whole goddamn store if you’d like. Buy anything—pickles, ice cream, cake, lemons, chocolate—all you can fucking eat. Just right now, let me go to fuckin’ sleep. You don’t need pickles right now.”
I scowled and took my hand from his arm as I stood up from the bed. I changed from my pajama shorts that I had been sleeping in to a pair of sweat pants and took my husband’s sweater off leaving me in just a tank top. Upon hearing the rustling from me changing, Billie Joe groaned inwardly and turned onto his back to see what I was doing. He cracked an eye open slowly and then just as slowly sat up in the bed. I didn’t look at him as I grabbed my satchel bag from the dresser a few feet away from the bed and checked my wallet to make sure I had money. “God damnit,” I heard him hiss. “Joe! Joe, get back in bed!”
I stalked down the hallway, down the stairs, through the house and to the front door, the whole way hearing Billie Joe thundering after me down the stairs, thorough the lounge and into the entryway. He grabbed onto my wrist as I was turning the knob of the door to leave. I turned to face him and was quickly slammed up against the door; making the few inches I had gotten it open to slam shut. “I’m hungry,” I stated simply.
Despite the crappy mood that had controlled Billie Joe’s words and motions, he laughed at that. Billie Joe sighed softly and nuzzled his nose against mine, kissing me softly. “Are you sure you checked everywhere for pickles and ice cream?”
I nodded while I wrapped my arms around my husband’s bare torso. “Everywhere.”
“The freezer in the garage?” I nodded. Instead of taking my word for it, Billie Joe took me by the hand into the kitchen where he pulled the metal door to the fridge open. I perched myself on the stool at the island and watched as his boxer clad self looked throughout the whole fridge for a jar of pickles that seemed to be non-existent. Finally, Billie Joe stood up and turned to face me, a wide grin on his face as he held up a jar of pickles. “I told you.”
I hopped up from my place on the stool and giggled furiously when Billie Joe handed the jar to me. I placed my hand on the back of his head, threading my fingers through his hair and kissed his lips gratefully. “Thank you!” I squealed as I bounced back to the stool I had previously been sitting on. Billie Joe sighed and ran a hand over his unshaven face as he followed me over to the counter and sat down next to me, resting his head on the cool marble. “You should go to bed,” I stated after I took a bite from the pickle that I was holding. “We’ve got a long drive tomorrow.”
I took another bite, but instead of hearing the crunch of the pickle, I heard the sound of Billie Joe’s teeth grinding together. I cocked an eyebrow at him, not able to speak because my mouth was full. “You’re so fucking lucky I don’t just bite you right now.”
I snorted loudly and swallowed before I spoke. “What? What have I done?”
Billie Joe scowled as he closed his eyes. “Joe, you fuckin’ woke me up at four AM to ask for what? Pickles. Pickles! And now, after nearly storming out of the house to go get some, you tell me to go to sleep because we’ve got a long drive later.” He scowled again. “Oh, I really could bite you right now.”
There was a short silence in the kitchen before I burst into a fit of giggles, finding the situation much more amusing than my husband. “Hey, this is partly your fault, too, Armstrong,” I pointed out; “if it wasn’t for your penis I wouldn’t be pregnant. So you pretty much owe me the pickles.”
My husband sighed into his multicolored arms deeply, as if to calm himself down. I felt the urge to ask him if he was going through sympathy pregnancy, only the only symptoms he was getting was the mood swings. But I decided to bite my tongue, knowing that the attitude I was getting was just from Billie Joe being woken up at four in the morning. Instead of picking out another pickle, I turned and leant closer to my husband. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and pressed my lips against his check, right above where his beard had began. Billie Joe lifted his head from where it rested in his arms and kissed my nose. “I am going back to bed, though. Are you sure your food crisis is over?”
I nodded as I grabbed one more pickle and shut the jar. “Okay, I’ll go with you. Let me put these back.”
Billie Joe twitched.
+++
Upon hearing that Christopher, Sydney’s boyfriend, would be on the East Coast in Florida for the same week that we’d be in LA, my husband told Sydney that she could invite a friend of hers to stay with us for the week as long as it was alright with their parents.
And what would explain why currently, there were two females giggling from the back seat of the Lexus as Billie Joe scowled and swore at the people on the highway. “Billie Joe,” I mumbled without tearing my eyes away from the screen of my iPhone, “chill out. You’re going to pop the blood vessel in your eye again.”
“Well if these fucking people would learn how the fuck to drive!” Billie Joe snarled, flailing his arms at the cars around us. “I wouldn’t have to be fucking stressed! Is this like a fucking highway full of goddamn sixteen and eighty year olds?! Jesus Christ! You can fucking drive faster than five fucking miles per hour, dipshit!”
I heard a bunch of giggles from the back seat and turned around to face Sydney and Tiffany, who had one bud of their earphones hanging from their ear as they listened to Sydney’s fathers’ road rage. I sighed. “Don’t encourage him,” I stated, “he’ll only just yell more. Just turn your iPods up and pay no attention to him. It’s the only way I get by.”
Billie Joe scowled at what I was telling the two teenagers from the driver’s seat. “Would you like to drive?” He snapped.
I rolled my eyes as I twisted back around in my seat so that I was facing forward. “Well, god knows I wouldn’t be screaming like a mad man and swearing like a trucker. And I wouldn’t be trying to run people off the road.”
“These people don’t know how the fuck to drive! With the fucking price of gas now these fucking idiots should be at home! Goddamnit,--” The car stopped short and I scowled, grabbing onto the arm rest. “Move, you fucking idiot!” Billie Joe pushed the horn.
“Alright,” I snapped, “next time you have to get gas, we’re going to switch. You’re either going to kill us all or launch yourself into an anxiety attack. It’s rush hour, darling. We’re starting to get closer to LA. Do tell me what you expect other than this?”
Billie Joe continued to scowl at people and ignored everything I said other than switching at a gas station. “Good,” he snapped, “we’re getting to empty anyway. I’ll get off at the next exit—if we ever fucking get there!”
I sighed again and went back to my phone, plugging my ear phones in like the two girls to drown out my husband until we were able to get out of the traffic.
Billie Joe slid out of the Lexus and closed the door behind him, immediately taking his pack of cigarettes from his shorts’ pockets and went to light one up. Billie Joe usually never smoked when inside a car, but now there wasn’t even a slight chance that he would since Sydney and Tiffany were in the back while I was next to him in the passenger’s seat pregnant. I turned around in the seat to look at Sydney and her friend after opening the door. “Would you two like anything?” I asked.
“Arizona Iced Tea?” Sydney asked.
I nodded and looked over to Tiff, who was pulling her purse open to get her wallet. I chuckled. “Don’t worry about it, darling. I wouldn’t make you pay for a drink. Whattya want?”
Tiff grinned nervously. “Oh, uh, thanks. The same thing as Sydney, please.”
I nodded again, grabbed my purse and got out of the black vehicle, closing the door behind me. I looked up at my husband and watched as he leant against the car, still puffing away at his cigarette. I walked over to him and placed an arm on his back, lifting his sunglasses from over his eyes as I peered up at him through my own. “I’m going inside. Do you want anything?” Billie Joe pushed me away lightly and at first I felt slightly hurt, but then realized it was because he was smoking a cigarette. I rolled my eyes. “Being around you smoking once in a while won’t kill me or the baby, Beej. Besides, you’ve got a more chance of killing us with smoking in a gas station.”
“So let the whole goddamn place blow up, I need this.”
I cocked an eyebrow and bit my bottom lip, subconsciously placing my hand on my growing stomach. I understood he was in a crappy mood from lack of sleep and the grid lock, but the statement burned slightly. “Thanks, Bill.”
Billie Joe winced, feeling the ice from my tone. “Joe, I didn’t mean it like that.”
Without any response, I turned and walked into the gas station to buy the drinks for Sydney and Tiffany and whatever I currently craved. Just because I wasn’t begging Billie Joe for something to eat didn’t mean the cravings weren’t there, it just meant that I hadn’t let myself think about them as much. Chocolate. I never got my damn ice cream.
As I was searching through the freezers in the back of the store, I heard the bell of the door opening to the small building. I took no notice of it at first until I felt a pair of arms wrap around my waist and a head place itself on my shoulder. “What are you looking at?”
I smirked to myself. Despite all the mistakes Billie Joe had made, one of the best things about him was the fact that he knew [most of the time] when he was wrong and [usually] kissed my ass and apologized. I didn’t know many other men who did that. Because of that, I decided not to hold a grudge. “Um,” I began, “I honestly don’t know. I want chocolate, but I don’t want chocolate milk. And I want something sweet to drink, but I don’t want juice. Mountain Dew? No. Do they have strawberries or anything strawberry flavored?”
Billie Joe chuckled at my rambling of food that I currently wanted as he straightened himself up though he didn’t remove his arms from around me. “Can you grab me a root beer?” I opened the freezer door and grabbed an A&W root beer for my husband and handed it to him, forcing him to take on hand from my stomach though he still kept both arms wrapped around me. He kissed my cheek. “Thanks. What do the girls want? Anything?”
“Arizona iced tea,” I stated simply, still trying to decide what I wanted most at the minute.
Billie Joe nodded and un-latched himself from me to go find two bottles of iced tea for the two teenagers that were still in the car. I, however, still kept staring at the freezers. “Mountain Dew,” I repeated to myself, “code red? Sprite?” I growled in frustration and glared down at my stomach. “This is your fault.”
After another ten minutes of me trying to decide while my husband tried his best to help [even though it’s almost impossible for anyone to help a pregnant woman] I had grabbed two drinks, and after purchasing it, shoved food in my purse. I was becoming hungry every few hours now. I pulled open the door to the driver’s seat and slid in since I refused to let Billie Joe drive anymore. I turned around and handed the girls the bag with the drinks only to find Sydney eyeing my oddly with a cocked eyebrow. I cocked an eyebrow back at her. “What’s wrong?”
I felt her eyes travel up and down my body as I looked at her in confusion. She hesitated and then shook her head. “Nothing, I was just wondering why you two took so long.”
Before I could speak, the passenger’s side door opened and Billie Joe piled in with one hand on the left side of his sunglasses as if to hold them into place and the other holding his drink and a pack of gum while a large grin had spread over his face. According to him, chewing gum was the only real way to keep his mind off of smoking for long periods of time—of course, he added, with the exception of sleeping, eating and sex. “It was because your mother doesn’t know what she wants in life,” he stated with a smirk playing on his lips. He then raised his voice to a higher pitch and gave himself a slight lisp, as if impersonating a female. “Billie, should I get the Mountain Dew or should I get the Vanilla Pepsi? Oh, Cherry Coke! I love cherries. Strawberries? Do they have strawberries? Billie, what drink has strawberries? Hmm, Mountain Dew? Strawberries?”
I scowled loudly as I twisted back around in my seat and punched my husband’s arm. He cackled, while at the same time nursed his arm. I shot him the ‘you’re so not getting laid tonight’ look. Billie Joe continued to grin as he lifted his sunglasses up to wink at me and kissed the air like all of the jerks in most movies did. I rolled my eyes and turned the ignition.
+++
The rest of the ride to the city was quiet, due to the fact that Billie Joe was no longer screaming obscenities at the other drivers on the road while flipping them off. Instead, he was passed out sound asleep in the seat next to me with his head rolled to the side—which looked completely uncomfortable. However, my husband seemed to do a good job at sleeping in terribly uncomfortable positions. I hesitated as I parked the car, almost not wanting to wake him after waking him this morning and pissing him off for food.
But, he had the keys so unless I was going to somehow dig my hand into his pocket without waking him, there was no choice.
I placed my hand back on the arm that I had early this morning, my fingers on a few of the stars as I gently shook his body. Billie Joe hummed in response and then lifted his right hand to push my hand from his left arm. “I’ll get you pickles in the morning, Joe,” he mumbled, “you’ll live without them for now.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Billie, darling, that was over twelve hours ago. I don’t want pickles right now. I just want your keys.”
Billie Joe still refused to open his eyes, meaning that he was for the most part, still asleep. “No, you’re not taking my Mercedes. I told you.”
Subconsciously I rolled my eyes. “Well then I guess it’s a good thing we’re driving the Lexus and I need the keys for our Los Angeles penthouse.”
The still-half asleep rock star shifted in his seat to allow easy access into his pants pocket. I rolled my eyes again as I figured that he was going to make me reach in and take them out and so I did. “You’re not going to come in with me?” I asked. “It’s been your house longer than mine, and well, unless you want me to carry in all the luggage and strain myself--,”
“Nonsense,” Billie Joe croaked. “No stress. I’ll just—just do it later.” He yawned and waved a hand in front of his mouth.
For the first time, my husband cracked his eyes open and looked around. He yawned again and lifted his hand to run through his shaggy brown hair as he pressed his face against the tinted window, looking around. Upon hearing the driver’s side door close, Billie Joe groaned inwardly and opened his door. He looked back to see that the two girls were passed and using each other for pillows before he slid out of his seat, chuckling at the two teenagers. The forty-six year old opened up the back hatch of the small SUV and groaned as he looked at all the bags before slowly pulling two out of the large pile.
I on the other hand had already opened the home and was currently turning on the Air Conditioner and fans. When I had first opened the door to the home, I had nearly had a stroke from the amount of heat that came flying out at me from it as if I was opening an oven. Billie Joe stepped into the house a few minutes after me and set down three suitcases by the door. “Jesus Christ is it hot in here. Did I leave the fuckin’ oven on last time I was here? Joe, be careful. I think I smell fried baby.”
I laughed as I paced back over to my husband, who instantly placed both hands on my stomach and kissed my lips. I grinned as I pushed his sunglasses from his dark eyes. “That’s not funny. My baby isn’t frying.”
Billie Joe chuckled and I watched as his eyes followed my hand that I had pulled away from him currently, holding his sunglasses. “Well, before our babydoes fry from this, I say we wake the girls up to let them freshen up and then go out to eat and by the time we get back, our kick-ass AC should have made this place pretty cool.”
I nodded slowly and placed his sunglasses on my head. “I’m hungry,” I stated.
My husband laughed. “Are you ever anything but?”
I scowled loudly. “Shut up, it’s not my fault. I’ve got a human being growing inside of me. And besides, you eat just as much as me and as far as I know you’re not pregnant.”
“Hey, hey watch it. I’m a growing boy.”
“Oh good. I was scared that you’d stay this height forever.”
Billie Joe whacked my arm. I giggled as I went to go wake up the sleeping girls that were still in the back of the car.
+++
It was around 12am that Billie Joe Armstrong and I could be found sacked out on the couch, the TV still on with the volume on mute. I had woken up a few minutes ago, however, having the strong urge to pee. All I really found myself doing lately was eating, sleeping, peeing and having mood swings. However, thankfully, the mood swings weren’t nearly as bad as they were going to be after about six or seven months.
When I returned from the bathroom, Billie Joe was now spread out across the couch with one leg and arm hanging off the side while the rest of his body was on it. His mouth hung open and a line of drool escaped the side while he snored. I giggled to myself as I sat down on the limited space of the couch I now had and gently shook him awake just as I had done the night before, however this was for different reasons. “Baby, wake up,” I cooed.
Billie Joe groaned and with his eyes still closed, he lifted his hand and wiped the drool from his mouth on the back of his arm. He groaned again in disgust at the saliva. “The movie is over?” He croaked.
I laughed. “The movie ended like an hour ago. I’m not sure how long you made it, but I passed out within the first like, ten minutes I think.”
My husband smirked. “Wuss.” He paused and thought. “Actually, come to think of it, I think I passed out within the first five.” He shrugged as he sat up. “Another failed attempt to watch a movie before bed without falling asleep.”
I giggled at that and went to stand up. I looked down at Billie Joe to see him looking past me with a cocked eyebrow. I turned around to see Sydney standing in the doorway, fidgeting with her Nantucket rope bracelet. I mirrored my husbands’ expression as I cocked an eyebrow. “Sydney?” I questioned.
Our daughter nodded and stepped closer to us, now being illuminated by the television. “Uhh…yeah, I thought I heard voices,” she stumbled through her words, “so, I, uh, I wanted to come down and talk to you.”
For a moment I began to wonder if Sydney and Tiffany were planning on sneaking out that night, but I doubted it for the most part after I saw her attire—a tank top and pajama bottoms. Her jewelry was off of her as was her makeup and her hair was pulled up into a messy bun.
However, thankfully, my husband and I seemed to be thinking the same thing. The only difference was Billie Joe didn’t hesitate to ask. “Are you planning on sneaking out?”
Sydney’s eyes widened as she stared at us in confusion and slight terror at what we were accusing her of. “What? No! Why do you think that? Does it look like I’m planning on sneaking out?”
“I used to sneak out all the time,” Billie Joe stated without taking his eyes off of his daughter, “I know how that shit works, Syd. You come downstairs or wherever your parents are and just say you’re seeing if they’re alright, or that you were getting a glass of water. Once you see they’re asleep or going to sleep, you run back up, change and sneak out. Those were my teenage years, Sydney.” Billie Joe looked up at me as he shifted on the touch so that he was sitting up now, hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees while he looked threateningly at our daughter. “Your mother did, too. We both know just about every way to get out at night. Don’t try to pull--,”
“Dad!” Sydney cried out before her father could keep on ranting, “I’m not going to sneak out! I actually wanted to talk to the two of you, but I didn’t want to do it in front of Tiff and now she’s asleep and you two are awake. I’m not sneaking out, so just chill, okay?”
The growl that rumbled in my husband’s throat went unnoticed by Sydney, though I had sat down next to him and gently rubbed his back to calm him down. Call me too trusting, but I believed our daughter. I didn’t figure she was stupid enough to sneak out into Los Angeles at only fourteen, anyway. “What’s bothering you?” I asked while still continuing to rub Billie Joe’s back.
Yes, Sydney was a good teenager, meaning she spoke to her father and I all the time. However, she was still a teenager and talking about personal things like it seemed she wanted to do now was rare, especially when coming to find us during the night to do so.
Sydney sat down on the love seat across from us. She sighed and hunched forward just how he father was sitting, though only leaning on one elbow because she was using her other hand to scratch the back of her neck—a nervous habit that she had picked up from her father. Once seeing her start to fidget, I started to do it myself. Billie Joe chuckled at that and in return, he rubbed my back now and gently massaged my shoulder with one hand.
“Alright,” Sydney started. She laughed slightly, “okay, now this may sound completely stupid, so like, I give you both full permission to totally laugh at me. I won’t be mad.”
Billie Joe shrugged. “I’d do it anyway, but thanks, Syd.”
Sydney rolled her eyes at her father and sighed. “Okay, I really don’t know how to say this without totally making it all awkward. But like, I don’t know,” she paused, “okay. Today, on the way here—well, it hasn’t only been just today now that I think of it, but like, recently. just today it really stood out.”
My husband sighed. “Am I ever going to be able to get to bed tonight?” I whacked him and he chuckled.
Sydney scowled. “Shut up, dad. I don’t know how to explain this.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, well, today when we were at the gas station Tiff,well, uh, well, she and I were watching you two when you were obviously disagreeing outside when dad was smoking, And well, you put your hand on your stomach. And well, I didn’t really think of it of course. But then Tiff asked me if you were pregnant. She said she noticed that you seemed to have a bump that her mother had when she was pregnant with her little sister, who’s now two, so she remembers. Like, she didn’t want to say anything because she didn’t want to be rude and she was just wondering. And well, I never noticed it until now. Like, when dad went into the gas station after you and his hands were also on your stomach. And then before, when I came down to get a class of water and you two were asleep—dads hand was on your stomach.” She took a deep breath. “And well, I was thinking about it, and you do it a lot now. And you’ve been eating a lot lately, like, I heard you two talking last night about pickles at four in the morning, and then mom got a few drinks from the station.” She paused again.
Had it not been for my husband’s hand on my shoulder, I’m pretty sure I would have fainted. I had been dreading to tell Sydney anything about the pregnancy and now she was figuring it out. I leant back against my husband’s body and sighed deeply as Billie Joe moved his hand to the arm farthest from him and began to draw imaginary circles there.
“Like I said, you two can totally laugh at me…or not. I’m just wondering, because it all seems to kinda seem like you, uh, you know, are—are, um, well--,” she groaned, obviously at loss for words.
“Pregnant?” Billie Joe finished for her.
Sydney’s eyes ran back and forth from her father and I as she nodded. “Yeah. I was just, y’know, wondering if you are by any chance, err…pregnant?” When neither Billie Joe nor I answered right away, Sydney laughed nervously. “Like I said, you two can totally laugh at me.”