Lily takes to being pregnant the way a cat takes to water, which is to say she absolutely hates it. She feels fat, she can’t drink wine, she’s only allowed decaf coffee, she can’t stand chocolate (seriously though, who hates chocolate when they’re pregnant? Lily has the worst luck), and all she wants to do is eat tiger tiger ice cream and cry.
When she complains about it to James one night over the phone while he’s in New York wrapping up a shoot on the umpteenth Marvel movie sequel, he chuckles at her. “Maybe,” he says, “You’ll turn out to be one of those cats who actually really like swimming.”
Lily leans against the fridge door, eyeing up the jar of pickled onions. “Cats don’t like swimming,” Lily says as she gives in to her cravings and grabs the jar, “That’s like their whole thing.”
“Tigers like water.” James counters.
“Tigers totally don’t count.” Lily mutters, preoccupied with opening her jar of pickled onions, “Tigers weren’t worshipped in Ancient Egypt, and I never compare myself to things that were not once regarded as gods.”
Lily may not be able to see James right now, but she can feel him raise his stupid judgey eyebrows. “Since when?” He asks incredulously.
“Since you knocked me up, dumbo.” She mutters, giving up on the onions. I didn’t want them anyways, she tells herself, as she abandons them on the counter and goes for the tiger tiger ice cream in the freezer.
“Lils, I’ll be back in a week.” James says, oblivious to her food related struggles, “And then I’ll be at your every beck and call.”
“Damn right you will be,” Lily mutters as she attempts to hunt down a spoon. There must be at least one clean spoon somewhere in this stupid house, she thinks.
“You’re gonna be on the Ellen show tomorrow, right?” James asks, changing the subject.
“Mmhmm,” says Lily, as she gives up on the spoon and grabs a fork instead. They basically work the same anyways. “And then the whole world will know that jily have finally got around to procreating.”
“And you’re ready for the slew of Harry Potter jokes?” James says. Lily would swear she can hear his grin.
“Hun,” says Lily, digging her fork into the ice cream, “I resigned myself to a life of Harry Potter jokes the day I married you. Nothing has changed.”
“Except for the little Harry we’ve created.” James jokes.
“If that name catches on,” Lily says, holding up her fork threateningly, because even if he can’t see her, it’s the thought that counts, “I will stab you with my ice cream fork.”
“Ice cream fork?” James asks incredulously.
“Don’t judge me,” says Lily, “I didn’t want to do the dishes today. Or yesterday. Or any day this week, really.”
The next morning, James tweets Lily about fifteen different links to videos of cats swimming. In spite of herself, Lily smiles.
Elsewhere, jily fans are confused.
