When Yamcha hung up, she took that as confirmation.
She needed only to punch in another number in her phone. Last time, she had dragged Goku in to act as a non-human shield and keep Vegeta from blowing up the planet or just pushing her down the stairs. This time, she would do it because she wanted to hear someone happy and just glad to be on this planet.
He answered his phone for once.
It was a sign. The universe was done pissing her off. She leaned into the phone’s warm clammy surface. “Goku. I have some news.”
Her friend stopped chattering about turnips, his sons and perfectly adorable grandchild and how Chi-Chi was, and some farming game score. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s big.” She blew air between her teeth. “I’m going to need your help with something here.”
Between the flying powers and his instant transportation, Bulma should have prepared herself better. Taken something or had a singular glass of red wine for her nerves. A bubble bath and manicure. She could have told her mother and reassured herself with the fact that Trunks was a strong, healthy perfect boy and this one would just as great a miracle as he was. If they had wide guileless brown eyes or beedy black ones or her lovely blue ones, it would be a marvel. So long as the baby had her brains, everything would be right in the world.
But Goku had some amazing time. He brought his whole Dende-damn family. He brought Krillin’s family. They sat eating finger food and making small talk as she hyperventilated in her own personal hell. At least she didn’t need to pee every five minutes. Not yet.
Then he had the nerve to tilt his head while she tried to strangle him in the kitchen. “You said—you said—you had big news and needed help!”
“You dumb monkey! I needed you to come here and restrain Vegeta. I have…I do have big news…”
She let him go and was disappointed when he bounded back up, hair all the more wild than normal. “What’s wrong with Vegeta?”
He’s crazy! He’s going to freak out when I say I’m pregnant and not sure who the dad is, again! He’s gone crazy and is going to say that we had a threesome with Yamcha but that’s nuts! Don’t listen to him. “I need your help.”
Then he was Goku, older, mature, able to withstand anything and with two kids on his own. He had a driver’s license. He, Chi-Chi had told her, exalted, over white wine spritzers, had once tried to do their taxes. The fact that the forms had somehow gotten set on fire didn’t matter. She had known him for over two decades now, and they had met when she had tried to commit a hit-and-run and he had thought her a witch. If she couldn’t rely on Son Goku, what hope could there be of facing all of this? “Whatever you need Bulma.”
What the hell; Goku would have forgotten the whole mess that had happened the first time. “I have to have another paternity test done. I’m pregnant and the Dad might be Vegeta. Or Yamcha.”
“Again!? Oh man, you’re not sure who the dad is for this one either! Wow, Bulma. Congrats on the baby though!” His smile was coming back. He barely had time to dodge the frying pan Bulma was suddenly wielding.
“Tell the entire world why don’t you! What, isn’t it bad enough I have to get another one of these tests done just to figure out who the dad is? You think it wasn’t humiliating enough the first time!” Oh, but it wasn’t Goku she really wanted to smack even as she chased him into the living room, it was herself three months ago who had calmly tossed aside the diaphragm and disregarded the option of condoms. It was going to be one last wild moment, and precautions were for the young and foolish who didn’t know about better.
The blue-haired scientist didn’t care about breaking a cooking instrument on Goku’s head in front of his family and friends, but she didn’t become horribly aware of how loud they had both been. And how thin these walls could be. She peered through her neatly trimmed blue fringe of hair at all these people she considered family.
Remember Part 2
She needed only to punch in another number in her phone. Last time, she had dragged Goku in to act as a non-human shield and keep Vegeta from blowing up the planet or just pushing her down the stairs. This time, she would do it because she wanted to hear someone happy and just glad to be on this planet.
He answered his phone for once.
It was a sign. The universe was done pissing her off. She leaned into the phone’s warm clammy surface. “Goku. I have some news.”
Her friend stopped chattering about turnips, his sons and perfectly adorable grandchild and how Chi-Chi was, and some farming game score. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s big.” She blew air between her teeth. “I’m going to need your help with something here.”
Between the flying powers and his instant transportation, Bulma should have prepared herself better. Taken something or had a singular glass of red wine for her nerves. A bubble bath and manicure. She could have told her mother and reassured herself with the fact that Trunks was a strong, healthy perfect boy and this one would just as great a miracle as he was. If they had wide guileless brown eyes or beedy black ones or her lovely blue ones, it would be a marvel. So long as the baby had her brains, everything would be right in the world.
But Goku had some amazing time. He brought his whole Dende-damn family. He brought Krillin’s family. They sat eating finger food and making small talk as she hyperventilated in her own personal hell. At least she didn’t need to pee every five minutes. Not yet.
Then he had the nerve to tilt his head while she tried to strangle him in the kitchen. “You said—you said—you had big news and needed help!”
“You dumb monkey! I needed you to come here and restrain Vegeta. I have…I do have big news…”
She let him go and was disappointed when he bounded back up, hair all the more wild than normal. “What’s wrong with Vegeta?”
He’s crazy! He’s going to freak out when I say I’m pregnant and not sure who the dad is, again! He’s gone crazy and is going to say that we had a threesome with Yamcha but that’s nuts! Don’t listen to him. “I need your help.”
Then he was Goku, older, mature, able to withstand anything and with two kids on his own. He had a driver’s license. He, Chi-Chi had told her, exalted, over white wine spritzers, had once tried to do their taxes. The fact that the forms had somehow gotten set on fire didn’t matter. She had known him for over two decades now, and they had met when she had tried to commit a hit-and-run and he had thought her a witch. If she couldn’t rely on Son Goku, what hope could there be of facing all of this? “Whatever you need Bulma.”
What the hell; Goku would have forgotten the whole mess that had happened the first time. “I have to have another paternity test done. I’m pregnant and the Dad might be Vegeta. Or Yamcha.”
“Again!? Oh man, you’re not sure who the dad is for this one either! Wow, Bulma. Congrats on the baby though!” His smile was coming back. He barely had time to dodge the frying pan Bulma was suddenly wielding.
“Tell the entire world why don’t you! What, isn’t it bad enough I have to get another one of these tests done just to figure out who the dad is? You think it wasn’t humiliating enough the first time!” Oh, but it wasn’t Goku she really wanted to smack even as she chased him into the living room, it was herself three months ago who had calmly tossed aside the diaphragm and disregarded the option of condoms. It was going to be one last wild moment, and precautions were for the young and foolish who didn’t know about better.
The blue-haired scientist didn’t care about breaking a cooking instrument on Goku’s head in front of his family and friends, but she didn’t become horribly aware of how loud they had both been. And how thin these walls could be. She peered through her neatly trimmed blue fringe of hair at all these people she considered family.