Read Maternity Leave for Free Online Page B

Costanza.
    “Where did you meet him?”
    I decided to nip this in the bud before I had to tell David what imaginary position Benjamin and I were in while conceiving our imaginary child. I put on a somber face and told David that I was still processing the information myself and was just not ready to talk about it yet.
    David shrugged and said we’d talk about it later. Then he switched into law mode. This was a talent of David’s. Whether it be a party, funeral or six o’clock in the morning, David was in full lawyering mode. Therefore, not surprisingly, David set my impending bundle of doom on the back burner and spent the next forty-five minutes going over my case list so he could see how many of Sandra’s maternity cases to shift to me.
    As an afterthought, on my way out the door, I told David not to say anything to my parents. It’s not that David and my parents hang out, but they coincidently live two houses away from each other and David might go out of his way to socialize with them to get the dirt on my pregnancy. Not only would this blow my cover, it would expose my parents to unnecessary David-time. Nobody should have to deal with David unless they’re receiving a substantial paycheck to do so.
    David assured me that he would keep my secret in the strictest confidence. His expression changed and he plastered a goofy smile on his face. I could tell he was very pleased that I told my deepest, darkest secret to him instead of my own parents. Inherent in his promise to keep quiet was the understanding that, other than my parents, he would tell everyone else the news immediately.
    After being dismissed from Principal Greene’s office, I went to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee. As I rounded the corner into the kitchen I glimpsed Sarah Smith out of the corner of my eye and stepped back. Sarah has been David’s paralegal for the past twenty years. He always introduces her as, “She’s a paralegal, but she’s like an attorney.” He pauses for dramatic effect during this phrase. Even after twenty years, Sarah never fails to blush when David says this about her.
    I turned the other way because Sarah has a reputation for trapping people in the kitchen for hours at a time to issue updates about her life. She is sixty years old, which she works into every conversation just to hear you say, “Really? Sixty? You don’t even look thirty.” Sarah also likes to say, “I’m getting so fat,” in every conversation, so that you correct her and tell her how thin she looks. This is when she tells you with a frown, “I’m a size two now, that’s huge! I used to be a zero. That’s when I was younger though. I’m sixty now…” (insert pregnant pause)
    In actuality, Sarah looks fifty and is a size six. Not bad, but not as described. Her appearance would actually go unnoticed if she weren’t constantly telling me and everyone else how hot she is, enticing us to observe her every flaw. While she has the potential to look very nice for her age, she’s not helping herself by lying in the sun every weekend, dressing in tight shirts and short skirts, and updating her boob job biannually to maintain her freakishly flotation-device-looking-rack.
    Talking to Sarah is excruciating, especially on a Monday, because she gives a blow by blow of her wild and crazy weekend, including detailed descriptions of every hot guy that hit on her at every bar in Ybor City and on Howard Avenue; the hangouts of eighteen-year-olds and twenty-five-year-olds, respectively.
    As I was sprinting the other way to my office I heard, “Jenna! Hey Jenna!”
    Shit! “Yes, Sarah.” I said.
    She responded, “I knew it! I could tell you were gaining weight.”
    I’d told David about the pregnancy three minutes ago and Sarah had already heard the news. This meant that the rest of the office knew or would know within minutes. I was a little pissed about the accelerated rumor mill, but mostly I was just pissed that she called me fat. Couldn’t she