Honestly? About one-tenth as much as I want access to the toilets behind him.
“Sir, the butterfly migration area will not only save the monarch butterfly, but also dozens of native plants that depend on them for pollination. If we want our ecosystem to continue to provide large predators to balance our rodent populations, changing leaves to attract tourists, and not to mention—oxygen for all of us to breathe, we must protect the bugs—”
“Yes, yes, yes,” he says with a pat on my lower back. The motion ripples around my intestines. I clench my buttocks and round my back. Sweat beads glide down my cheeks as if I ran a mile. “Science, science, political lines. I want to know what you—Horus—you want.”
Oh, God help me.
“I want to conserve this forest,” I mutter. I’m risking the sanctity of my khaki pants and my dignity with each second that passes. If this isn’t taking one for the environmental team, I don’t know what is.
Groan.
I wrap my arms around my belly and double over. Will I have time to unbuckle my belt? Curse my vanity for wearing my extra-large, “Only You Can Prevent Forest Fires” belt buckle cover! I’ll waste precious seconds removing it, my leather belt, and no! No!
Button fly pants.
“Excuse me a moment,” I wail, as I barrel into the stall. I slap the door with my left hand as my right works out the puzzle that holds my pants up.
“Oh yeah, let me hold your door,” Eli says with a chuckle.
Hold my door! He’s in the blast zone! Has the man no self-preservation instincts? I flush as soon as I sit down to muffle my explosion, but what can I do when the man stands less than a foot from me?
“The door has a latch—”
“I ask because I’m about to make you an offer you can’t refuse,” he says, peeking through the gap between the door and the stall frame. I glare at the beady, brown eye to establish dominance until my next round of cramping squeezes my eyes shut. “Amber told me about your little problem—”
“A baby’s not a problem, sir,” I utter as I grind my molars to keep from crying out. My problem is my stress levels! The peristalsis of my intestines won’t stop! “We had a one-night-stand, and while not in love, we can co-parent if that’s what Amber wants.”
“Co-parenting is not an option.” Eli’s tone darkens.
My body responds violently, and I’m forced to flush again.
“If she wishes to terminate the pregnancy, it’s her body. She’s early enough—”
“Amber told too many damn people! She’s pushing her belly out for ‘baby-bump pictures’ all over the damn internet! I’m fixin’ to run for mayor this fall, and I’ve got my sights on being governor in the next five years. I won’t have her wild waysrunning our name through the mud. No. She needs someone to tame her.”
“Perhaps she could volunteer here,” I say with a grunt. Oh, what I wouldn’t do for my emergency pack of activated charcoal capsules and antacids! “With the planned expansion, she could take advantage of many different opportunities to conserve our environment and help the community—on camera.”
“I like your thinking. That’s why I’m going to enjoy having you as my son-in-law. Your ideas for the future will keep Amber on the straight and narrow. With photo opportunities in nature, helping at the bug park, and a baby on her hip, she won’t have time to dance on bars or, well…I guess she can’t get more knocked up than she already is. It was only a matter of time—with her mama dying when she was a wee thing and all.”
“I’m so sorry, sir,” I murmur as my brain tries to split time between my social and intestinal traumas. “She seemed like a nice girl the night we met. I’m sorry we haven’t spent time together since, but we don’t enjoy the same lifestyle—”
“That’s what I’m counting on you to change about her!” He lets go of the door to pace the small space. I watch his shiny, cordovan loafers from under the stall door. “Look, I’m a businessman and willing to bargain. Do you want this butterfly park? It’ll be my wedding present.”
His words cramp a stitch into my side as my liver seizes to release more bile and enzymes. Poor abused organ is tapped out. Instead of calming myself to get out of this stall, my pulse pounds. My dress shirt has the consistency of used tissue, and my pants carry a layer of grime from the floor. The beds of my nails are blue with decreased blood flow as my digestive systemhogs my resources. If I don’t get my stress under control, I may faint.
“Alright, I know it’s a shock that a father would pay for his daughter’s marriage. But we know she likes you, right? How else did she conceive Junior? Even if you get divorced down the road, the park’s still yours…and I’ll throw in the deed to my part of the forest. You know my land stretches to the Crown City Wildlife Area. You can fit a lot of butterflies in acreage of that size. What do you say—will you marry Amber?”
“Marry Amber? Has she given a sign—” My protests, citing Amber’s disinterest in my sober self and lack of dates after our tryst, die on my tongue as another spasm forces me to flush. If this goes on much longer, I’ll be in danger of dehydration. This is worse than any torture a man can endure.
“Sign the papers at the wedding? You drive a hard bargain for such a sickly, weak guy,” he says as he stops in front of the door. I’m confronted by the beady, brown eye in the door’s crack again. “Alright, I give. You get Winged Wildlife and Abundant Earth, your butterfly park, and the National Forest acreage at the wedding. When you sign the marriage certificate, we will notarize the whole package—good and proper. That way there’s no messy business on my baby girl’s honeymoon.”
I groan as a ripple of pain dances under my ribs.
“Don’t worry about the honeymoon, wedding, or even the ring,” he says with a belly laugh that twists mine in knots. “Women love planning fluffy stuff. Amber will wear her Grand Mammy’s ring, starting tonight. Flash her rock around the internet instead of her indiscretion!”
“Shouldn’t we talk to her?” My words are broken up by gulps of air.
“See? Always looking for what people see,” he says with another belly laugh, as if we’re old chums in a bar—not practically dying in a public restroom. “She will meet you in the proposed space for the garden out back and you will propose. Don’t worry. She’s saying yes…or she’s cut off from my money.”
