Getting the time off work had been the hard part.
As much as you would have liked to, your job wasn't exactly the most flexible. But then again, neither was Bailey. She and her friend had been planning this for all of three weeks beforehand, and wouldn't hear anything about this "month in advance" bullshit that acted as your company standard. You were gonna go, stay in the guest room, and have a good time no matter what your stupid boss said for as long as you wanted.
Which was, of course, much easier for Bailey to say now that she no longer worked for your stupid boss.
"Hey babe, Sprite me?"
Taking one hand off the wheel, you reached into the cupholder and picked the McDonalds cup out of the slot and lifted it to your wife's lips. Both of her hands were, naturally, busy at the moment. The right hand alternating between messaging apps and scrolling through Instagram, while the other hand held her second burger from the bag. She wrapped her lips around the straw, suckled her soda down, and parted with a little contented "ahh".
In steering the soda towards her, your straight path on the road began to waver. The sound of your tires against the rumble strip ripped your attention back to the wheel.
"Watch the road, dude!" Bailey spat as she smacked your thigh, her whole body wobbling from behind her seatbelt before leaning back into her seat, "Jesus Christ..."
Laying her phone on the summit of her mountainous belly, Bailey pulled her t-shirt back down over the inch of ivory-colored flab that had ridden up in your recklessness. Her gut ran over the galaxy print leggings that she'd tucked it into—the poor things barely stood a chance against that thing on an empty stomach, let alone three pit stops in.
Pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, Bailey sighed in mild irritation as she resumed scrolling idly through her socials. You were used to it. Her once sharp features had become buried underneath excess cheek and chin chub, but they were no less biting than they had been back when you'd first met.
She squirmed in her seat uncomfortably, stomach sloshing back and forth while fat thigh meat brushed against the passenger side door. She grunted laboriously as she struggled to reach down and find the lever to adjust the seat.
"You okay, babe?"
"No—are you sure this thing doesn't go back any further?"
"I'm sure."
"Ugh... I swear this car used to be so much fucking bigger..."
Crumpling up the wax paper that had come with her fast-food burger, Bailey balled it up and tossed it into the teeming Wal-Mart bag that had served as your trash receptacle. Her face still in a decisive frown, she managed to find a lever, albeit not the one she wanted. Slowly, Bailey reclined into some modicum of comfort. Leaning back, she seemed even bigger. Her fat arms crossed tightly over her tank of a stomach while she glowered at her phone.
"We're almost there."
You reached out to lay a hand on the quivering mass that was your wife's gut. Not necessarily just to cop a feel of that glorious tum, but maybe to console her as she lashed out for about the tenth time on an hours-long drive that had been her idea in the first place.
"Ah!" she smacked your hand with hers, her arm wing and fat pancake tits jiggling, "Hands off, belly groper."
"I wasn't trying to do anything." you lied as you reeled your hand back in, "Besides, I didn't hear you complaining last ni—"
"Whatever, you need to keep your eyes on the road or you'll fucking kill us both."
You rolled your eyes as she smiled sarcastically, your attention slowly drifting back towards the road. For a minute. After a moment of silence (perhaps having thought she had genuinely hurt your feelings) Bailey reached over, grabbed your hand with her forefinger and thumb, and lifted it over to her belly.
"There." she grumbled, "Happy?"
"Immensely."
"Ugh, I'm immense." Bailey's neck fold frowned as she looked down, "We're gonna pull up in the driveway and the neighbors are gonna want to roll me back out to sea. I haven't been here in forever."
"I remember you saying something about coming out here a lot when you were younger." you began to rub in long swooping motions, "Why'd you stop?"
"It's like a four hour drive dummy, you tell me." Bailey held back a burp, "Who has the time?"
"Me, apparently."
"Besides, I found better things to do than drive out to the beach every weekend." she purred, laying her plump hand over yours and pressing down on the soft, squishy surface of her belly, "Dummy."
Bailey interlocked her fingers with yours and gave your hand a squeeze. When she wanted to, she could be affectionate.
"How much longer?" she asked
"About twenty minutes."
"Good. I need to get out and stretch my legs. This car's like a sardine can."
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