The Talk
I shifted uneasily in my metal seat. Mindi didn't seem to notice. She sipped her strawberry milkshake as she watched people go by. I stared at my own frosty cup. It was still half-full, but the last thing Mindi had said to me completely eradicated any chances of me finishing it. She crossed her legs and checked her phone.
"You on Instagram?" she asked as if she hadn't just dropped a nuclear bomb on me.
"Um... No, not really. I think I, like, made a profile when I was high and deleted it when I was drunk."
"Me," she said with a chuckle.
"So, um... How long have you known?"
"That's my brother, dude. I knew like almost instantly. He like started smiling more and bitching less."
"Oh, so you, like, approve?"
She shrugged. "Does my opinion really matter?"
"I mean, like, you are my boss, and I really don't want any conflict."
"Who am I to tell you how to live your life, dude? I'm going to be an aunt. Do you not realize how many amazing onesies your kid is going to have now?"
"Um... I guess I didn't..."
"Well, yeah, you're doing parent shit and like worrying if you are fucking your life over right now. I get to be an aunt. A kidless aunt. I get to buy shit for my niece or nephew and spoil them rotten and give them back to you, full of sugar and with a shitload of toys."
"I didn't think you'd be this happy."
"Oh yeah? Why not?"
"Well, no offense, but you're like a bitch at work. You never like smile or anything. Honestly thought you'd hate me."
"Bro, it's work. I don't want to be there. I have to wear a bra and pants and pretend I give a shit about Myrtle's ice-cream being kinda melty and Sharon's milkshake taking twenty seconds longer for them to make than she expected. You work at an ice-cream parlor for a summer and accidentally earn your five-year pin and you tell me if you'll be happy. This is a real-life thing. You're like one of three people I work with that I would think about slowing down for if you were in a crosswalk. Plus, my baby bro is happy as shit. I don't know how my mom's gonna take it, but I'll have your back if she starts being an asshole or her inner Daughters of the Revolution comes out."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Unless I'm not in charge of the baby shower that is."
"Wait, what?"
"I'm just joshing you. Ooh, Josh. I like that name... Damn, now I'm like wanting my own kid..." she sipped her milkshake and peered at a clearly exhausted woman who was dragging her screaming toddler away from the Great American Cookie kiosk. "Welp, there goes that desire. Congratulations, Nikki. I'm ninety percent sure that's going to be your future, but we have good genes and you're kind of adorable, so at least they'll be cute."