I have a group of girlfriends (we call ourselves the BGs – short for Bajan Girls) that I get together with every now and then. I’ve known most of these girls for about 10-plus years. We started out as a fairly large bunch (I think it was 11-deep at its max), but as time wore on and true colours were revealed, the posse has dwindled to a much more manageable five or six.
We meet at each other’s houses to have a few drinks, laugh, and share milestones and offer words of support in difficult times. We celebrate births and birthdays, promotions and, really, just about any excuse at all to see each other. Next to my cousins (whom I will write about soon enough), these girls are my everything. Mush, mush…
It’s Summerlicious in the city, and it’s one of our traditions to meet up for a gourmet meal at a spot we’ve never been to before. Monday was our only mutually free day, so yesterday we met at Crush Wine Bar on King street for a long overdue grub and gab session.
I got downtown about 45 minutes ahead of our 6 pm seating. It was a scorcher of a day, and I had parked about a block away, so I sat in the shelter of my still-cool car before heading to the resto. During that time, my friend Waveney called to get directions. She was on foot, so I told her to walk to my car and then we’d head over together. About 10 minutes later, she was at my passenger side door. As she climbed in, hot and cursing, she blurted, “You know, I had this feeling that you were going to tell us that you’re pregnant.”
I was so caught off-guard by her statement, I just stared at her and said nothing.
“Aha. I see you can neither confirm nor deny!” She laughed at my silence. I am a horrible liar under duress, so I caved and told her. “Congratulations! I knew it!” She squealed triumphantly. “How is the boy taking it? How far along are you?”
“Coming up to eight weeks. He’s thrilled.” I replied. Checking the time, I noted that we had about 10 minutes to get to dinner. I was still flustered. “But we’re not really telling anyone yet.”
“Your secret is safe with me, but I doubt you have to worry. You’re not even showing yet,” she admonished. I was wearing a blousy blue top, and I pulled the fabric close to my body to reveal my bump. She sucked her teeth. “Please, girl. You just look like you had one too many beers or something. No one will even notice.”
I laughed as we got out of the car and headed to Crush.
And she was right. No one noticed. I got a few looks when I ordered a wicked (virgin) raspberry-mint lemonade, but I quickly made up a story about having had way too much to drink over the weekend, and no one batted an eyelash after that.
Waveney muttered something about virgins not getting pregnant under her breath. I kicked her under the table, and we both smiled.