Kitchen Promises

By: Brooke Cumberland

“Whatever you want, baby. We could wait until after the babies are here.”

She smiled and took a sip of her water. “I mean, unless you just want to elope,” she teased. Honestly, I could care less what route we took. Of course, I wanted it to be special for us, but I just wanted to make her mine. I wanted to call her my wife. I wanted to stamp my initials in her to keep any wandering eyes off her.

“Hey, Elvis could marry us Vegas-style, for all I care.” I smiled back at her. I grabbed her hand in mine and brought it to my lips.

“Oh gross,” Michael groaned, ruining our moment. “I will not allow you two to get married by Elvis. Absolutely not. Hell will freeze over before that happens.”

“And why is that, Michael?” Molly snapped. “If I want Elvis to marry me, I will.”

“Unless Elvis himself resurrects from his grave, I can’t let you do it.” I watched as Molly rolled her eyes and stabbed another piece of chicken.

“Hell!” Stella screamed, jerking all of our attention toward her.

“Excuse you, young lady?” Molly narrowed her eyes.

“Michael said it first.” Her body lowers in the chair.

Molly slowly turned her attention toward Michael. “Nice going.”

Michael busted out laughing as Molly cringed. “I teach her all my best qualities, remember? She’ll have a great sense of fashion, and a foul mouth. Get used to it, babe.”

“You are no help,” she growled.

The rest of our evening was spent listening to Michael test Molly’s limits. Apparently, Michael had a death wish. I just sat there, shaking my head as Michael dug his own grave. But I knew they had a relationship I would never understand. Whatever works for them…




Drake left early for work the following morning, leaving me alone for a few hours before I had to go into work. I enjoyed working the later shift, giving me enough time to get through my nausea and morning sickness. Not only that, it gave me some peace and quiet time.

“Damn, you swallow a watermelon?” Michael walked into my room, raising an eyebrow as his eyes roamed my belly.

Apparently, quiet time is over.

“Two actually.”

“I don’t envy you, that’s for sure. Just the thought of how those babies are getting out makes my balls hurt.” He made a pained face, which made me laugh.

“That’s exactly why men could never go through labor. You’re all a bunch of babies.”

“Oh, is that so? You think women are the only ones that could stand the pain?” he retorted. He sat on the bed next to me, causing the bed to dip.

I moved closer to him and twisted his nipple. “Ow, oh my god!” he squealed.

“Case in point.”

“That’s not fair. That’s sensitive,” he whined, rubbing over his chest.

“And my vag isn’t? Please, men could never handle it.”

He rolled his eyes, not willing to argue with my raging hormones.

“You’re lucky I love you.” He grinned.

“Or what?”

“Or I wouldn’t—” He grabbed my hips and started tickling me uncontrollably.

“Michael, stop!” I squealed.

“Never! Let’s see how much you can handle! Mwahaha!”

“You’re an evil man! Stop! I’m gonna pee my pants!” I screamed back, wiggling out of his grasp. “Seriously, I think I leaked!”

Michael finally stopped, but he couldn’t contain his laughter. I swatted at him as I clenched my thighs together, waddling to the bathroom.

“Sorry, babes. But…I still have it,” he gloated, brushing his hands together.

“Don’t be so sure. I’ll retaliate when you least expect it,” I threatened, pointing a finger at him. Michael and I use to get into tickle fights back in high school, and because he was bigger and stronger than I was, he’d pin me down and always win. Then he’d hold me down and make a spit bubble until I cried out, “Michael’s the greatest!” Oh yes, he had it coming to him big time now.

Michael was like a brother to me. He was my best friend, but he was more than that. He was my gay soul mate—if there was such a thing—but it was true. He was my other half in being the perfect best friend.

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