Chapter 8: Dinner With the Crosses

Chapter 8:

Dinner With the Crosses

Bridget and Aidan cleaned up his room and then went out for ice cream. By the time they got back, Mr. and Mrs. Crosse had come home.

“Well, that’s gonna make it easier to convince them we’ve been behaving ourselves.”

Bridget sniggered and lapped up a bit of her melting treat before it could drip onto her breasts. They were overflowing her lap, and even with the seat pushed all the way back, she felt cramped. Her boobs pressed against the dashboard and rested heavily on her thighs. They even blocked part of her view out the windshield.

“You’ve got to stop licking it like that,” Aidan said. “Between the innuendo and the boobs, I’m already getting hard again.”

“Like what?” Bridget shot back with an amused smirk. “I’m just eating my ice cream.”

“Like a whore,” Aidan grumbled.

“It’s not my fault you’re a perv!”

Bridget stared at him. He held a blank expression for a moment but broke out into a full-blown laughing fit. She slapped his shoulder and joined in, at which point the top scoop of her ice cream dropped into her cleavage.

“COLD!” She squealed. “Cold! Cold! Cold!”

Aidan laughed even harder, thankful that they were driving into the garage. He wasn’t sure that he would have been able to pull over without crashing the car in his current state. Bridget fished between her tits for the frigid foreign object, but her hand emerged empty and smeared with pink cream.

“Stop laughing and help me, you jerk!” Bridget whined, still taking time to finish the remains of her cone. “Your lady love is in distress!”

Aidan got out of the car, went around the back to open her door, and helped drag her tits-first out of it.

“You’re gonna have to get a bigger car,” she told him. “And—ah!”

She let out a shout of surprise as Aidan plunged facefirst between her boobs. His tongue licked up traces of strawberry cream, and he emerged, licking his chops, with bright pink stains all over his face, neck, and in his hair.

“Aidan!”

The shouted name came from someone with a loud, strong, feminine voice. Aidan spun, and Bridget stood up straight, adjusting her top back into its proper position over her bra. They both looked into the disapproving eyes of Mrs. Crosse. She was a short woman in her late forties with a plump, pretty face. Her hands rested on her generous hips, which were wide enough to give her a full, round figure. Bridget hadn’t expected her butt to get so big over the last few years, but it made her feel better about how much weight she herself had been putting on lately. Plus, Mrs. Crosse actually carried it well, which gave her hope.

“Sorry, Mom,” Aidan mumbled. “We were joking around, and she dropped her ice cre—”

“Save the excuses,” Mrs. Crosse sighed. “At least for as long as you’re in my house, you’ve got to control yourself better than that.”

Mrs. Crosse turned to look at Bridget, who suddenly felt unclean and shameful. She knew the Crosses were religious folks, but they had never seemed too fundamental or militant in their beliefs before. Were they feeling protective of their son in the face of a big-breasted seductress? Would she be fighting yet another uphill battle just to be with Aidan?

Does she know what we did before they got home? She probably suspects as much now.

Mrs. Crosse’s face split into a wide smile as she looked Bridget in the face.

“She doesn’t want you pawing at her all day anyway, now do you, Bridget? It’s so nice to see you again!”

She seemed genuine, and Bridget’s cold shame was replaced with a nostalgic burst of happiness in an instant. 

 “It's good to see you too, Mrs. Crosse. It’s been way too long.”

The good memories of Mrs. Crosse came rushing back. Like the time she let her and Aidan have the first few cookies out of the oven, or the time she gave them fresh lemonade after a long day of roughhousing. Mrs. Crosse had always been like a favorite aunt to her. How had they gone so long without speaking to each other?

Bridget knew why, of course. Her chest was both a physical and metaphorical barrier between herself and the rest of the world. Even now, Mrs. Crosse had to maintain an unnatural distance to avoid pressing into her tits. But she wasn’t being weird about how exaggerated her body had become. She wasn’t even staring at her chest. Thus far, it was the best possible interaction.

“Will you be staying for dinner? I know it’s still early, but we’d love to have you. There’s so much catching up to do.”

Bridget didn’t want to go back home anytime soon, so it felt like the best option. There were painful realities she would have to face there. There would be a long conversation with her mother and a more than likely tearful explanation of what she had gone through the night before. She felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over her head. Her whole body was tense, and her legs started shaking.

“You know what?” she said, forcing herself to smile through what could only be a trauma response. “I’ll take you up on that.”

“Wonderful!”

Mrs. Crosse clapped her hands in delight, turning around to leave.

“Why don’t the two of you come inside and socialize for a bit? Jack would love to see you again, Bridget.”

She put a strong emphasis on the word socialize, and Aidan winced. Bridget knew it was her version of her own mother’s “danger tone.” Mrs. Crosse wasn’t making suggestions. She left the garage door open behind her, expecting them to follow.

“I think that was her subtle way of saying she wants to keep an eye on us.”

Aidan looked embarrassed and flustered. Bridget grinned at him.

“Big deal,” she said, leaning in to hug him and whisper in his ear. “We already boned, didn’t we?”

“You have such a delicate, ladylike way with words. Did you know that?”

She punched his bicep, making it cramp up, then lifted her sticky boobs in both arms and hobbled off into the house.

“Mrs. Crosse? Can I borrow your shower? I really did drop my ice cream.”

● ● ●

They passed the next few hours watching college football with Aidan’s dad. Mr. Crosse was a tall, graying, good-looking man of about her own dad’s age. Ever the southern gentleman, he gave up his beloved, enormous chair-and-a-half recliner so she would be more comfortable. Bridget loved it. It's motorized assistance allowed her to get up and down on her own, even when she reclined to the point where her boobs rested on top of her. She was going to have to ask her dad to buy her one.

If they’ll even talk to me after I walked out on Mom today.

The dark thought rose unbidden to the forefront of her mind. She decided to ignore those issues and enjoy watching Mr. Crosse and Aidan. She wasn’t one for football, but she always enjoyed enthusiastic fans losing their minds, whatever the sport. They started yelling at the screen as a player caught a long pass and gunned it for the end zone.

“Go! Go, go, go, go, go!”

They screamed in perfect unison, voices melding into one. Aidan jumped up and started hopping up and down on the couch like some kind of giant toddler. Bridget had to smile; her troubles already forgotten in the wake of such raw excitement. There were two close calls where defenders almost brought the runner down with desperate dive tackles, but he made it into the endzone. Despite her ambivalence toward the game, Bridget threw her arms up as Aidan and his dad hugged each other and screamed their victory to the heavens.

“That was a hell of a play!” Mr. Crosse huffed in his faded southern drawl as he took his seat on the couch again. “Does your dad still watch football, Bridget?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “He’s been working a lot more lately.”

Because of me.

Her brain inserted this extra clause, but she left it off and flashed a grin.

“Oh, yeah, I bet he’s burning the midnight oil after that surprise baby. Jude, was it?”

“Julian,” Bridget corrected.

“That’s right. I saw him and your mom out for a walk a few weeks back. She looks good, considering all the extra work that comes with young boys.”

“Good game, right?” Bridget said, desperate to change the subject.

It was a clumsy attempt, but Mr. Crosse only raised an eyebrow before replying.

“Great game,” he agreed. “I think they’re gonna clinch it as long as they don’t make any stupid mistakes from here on.”

Aidan stood up and stretched his arms over his head.

“I’m going to the kitchen real quick. You guys want anything? Snacks? Drinks?”

“I’m good for now,” Bridget said.

“Grab me a beer from the garage, would you, son?” Mr. Crosse said. “There should be some of the good stuff left towards the back.”

Aidan nodded and went through to the garage. Mr. Crosse turned to Bridget. His eyes only lingered on her chest for the briefest instant. Not in a perverse way, but in an acknowledging and almost impressed one. She had no idea how, but he was somehow chaste about it.

“Audrey tells me she caught you and Aidan acting up in the garage.”

Bridget’s face felt hot. She knew she had to be blushing.

“Um, yeah, but it wasn’t—”

“I’m not here to pass judgment,” he said, waving a hand through the air. “I just want to get my opinions out in the open.”

“Y-yeah…”

Bridget felt even more awkward and embarrassed. She wasn’t raised in a religious household, or an antireligious one, for that matter. Now she could only pray that she wasn’t about to receive some sort of conversion speech.

“Well, I want to be clear that what we don’t do is expect other people to live by our standards. It’s your choice to live your way. I just wanted you to know we’re religious and all, but we’re not bigots or prudes, alright? We're a little…”

He tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling as he searched for the right word. In the end, he settled on one of his many southernisms. Bridget might have chuckled if she hadn’t been so worried about the direction this conversation would take.

“Squirrely about some things people get up to these days, but we won’t try to get between you and Aidan. He’s a good boy, and we trust he can make his choices. Right or not, we'll love him the same.”

Bridget wasn’t sure why he felt the need to tell her this, but before she could ask, Aidan returned with the beer. Mr. Crosse thanked him, and both he and Bridget smiled at him as he left the room again and headed for the kitchen.

“I wanted to be clear, is all. I don’t think his last girlfriend liked us much. Thought we were Jesus freaks or something. Between you and me…”

He looked around to make sure no one else was listening in.

“That Eva’s a real bitch. I danced a jig when Aidan dumped her.”

Bridget’s face lit up in a broad smile.

“She so is!” she laughed, already feeling relieved. “And I know you aren’t like that, Mr. Crosse. You’ve always been cool. Just so I’m clear, I don’t have anything against religious people. My family just never really bothered with church or anything like that.”

“That’s all well and good, just, uh, don’t get too carried away and get pregnant, alright?” he said. “I wrestled live gators in my youth, but your mother terrifies me.”

He grinned and winked at her as he took a swig of beer. Bridget sniggered and leaned back in the big chair, more relaxed and satisfied than ever. Aidan reentered the living room with a bowl of chips and a can of soda.

“What are you guys laughing about?”

“I was telling her embarrassing stories about you. Like that time at the deer camp when—”

“Dad!”

● ● ●

A couple of hours later, Mrs. Crosse called them all into the dining room. It amazed Bridget that she had spent almost the entire day with the Crosses and none of them had so much as asked an innocent question about her chest. She supposed it would have been a little more awkward for them, though. They had known her since she was a kid and seemed to be making a concerted effort to be polite and make her feel welcome.

Since Bridget had to turn sideways to eat without getting her boobs in the way, Aidan and Mr. Crosse set up a spot for her at the end of the table. Aidan even had the bright idea to bring out an old double papasan chair for her to rest them on. She felt like she was putting herself on display, but no one seemed to care much. It was a lot like they were making simple accommodations for someone in a wheelchair. They knew better than to make a big deal out of it.

“I have to say,” Mr. Crosse chuckled while he took his seat at the opposite end of the table. “This is a different setup than what I’m used to. Audrey is usually in your spot, Bridget.”

Mrs. Crosse entered the dining room with a big platter of what looked sort of like fresh, homemade enchiladas. She gave her husband a scathing look as she set them in the center of the table. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, like he was sitting on a hot coal.

“Uh, not that we aren’t happy to have you!” He amended. “You’re welcome anytime!”

“It’s alright,” she reassured him. “I know I’m kind of a spectacle. Especially while I’m eating and stuff.” 

“No need to make her feel self-conscious, Jack,” Mrs. Crosse admonished her husband. “Can't help how God made you, can you, dear?”

“Well, I wish he’d made me about ten feet taller,” Bridget quipped as she tugged her bra straps with her thumbs. “Then these might match.”

The Crosses stared at her in silence for a moment. Bridget thought she'd stepped over a line until Mr. Crosse let out a good-natured guffaw, slamming his hand down on the table.

“I love a funny woman!”

“Dad…”

Aidan looked mortified at the way his father was acting up. Bridget wondered if he was always so rambunctious or playing it up for her. She remembered him as more of a somber man than what she was seeing now.

“Anyway, I hope you like Hungarian food,” Mrs. Crosse said. “I’m making my grandmother’s famous Budapest Banquet.”

Bridget thought it over. She couldn’t think of a time she had eaten anything described as Hungarian before.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever had it,” she said. “But I love trying out new food, so bring it on!”

Mrs. Crosse smiled at her.

“I kept the paprikash on the milder side, just in case. Give me one minute, and then we can dig into the first course.”

She bustled off into the kitchen again. Bridget thought it would have been polite to offer to help, but there was no way she could carry pots of hot food as she was. She would never be much of a chef. She knew that much by now. As she wondered what kind of food Hungarians ate, Mrs. Crosse returned carrying a large pot of stew that she set beside the enchilada things.

“So,” she announced, putting one hand on a sturdy hip and wiping her brow. “Since this is your first time, Bridget, the banquet is served over three courses. The first is pörkölt, which is basically beef stew, with palacsinta. Those are pretty much savory crepes stuffed with meat.”

She grabbed a single crepe from the platter, set it on her plate, then grabbed a ladle and dipped it into the pot of stew.

“Put one of the palacsinta on your plate, spoon a little stew on top, and go to town. If you like it and want seconds, that’s fine, but remember that this kind of food can be pretty filling. I promise you’re going to want to save room for dessert.”

She demonstrated the proper technique and portions, then handed the plate to Bridget.

“Go ahead, everyone.”

Aidan beat his dad to the punch. He grabbed two of the stuffed crepes and ladled out what looked like half a gallon of stew on top of them. His dad followed suit. They both seemed excited for the meal. For her part, Bridget thought it smelled delicious and couldn’t wait to try it. She grabbed a fork and used it to cut the end off of her palacsinta. Savory-sweet steam poured out, and she barely let it cool before popping it into her mouth. Her eyes widened at the strong, pleasant flavors the moment it hit her tongue. It was delicious.

“Oh my God, this is so good!”

Mrs. Crosse smiled and took a bite from her own plate.

“I’m glad you think so. It’s my grandmother’s very own recipe. Unchanged since almost seventy years ago and about as authentic as you’re likely to find around here.”

“You could open a restaurant!”

“I’ve told her the same thing for years,” Mr. Crosse said, smiling as he chewed a mouthful of steaming hot food.

“I’ve had my hands full raising your children, Jack,” Mrs. Crosse said with a dangerous grin. “While holding down a job at the pharmacy, I might add.”

“I know, I know,” Mr. Crosse said. “I only meant it as a compliment. And speaking of my children, where the hell is Ben?”

Bridget recognized the name. Ben was Aidan’s older brother. The same one that had creeped on her when she was still very much a child and he was old enough to shave. She didn’t like the thought of seeing him again. From what she had heard, the years had not been kind to him, and he had only narrowly avoided hard time for some criminal activity or other. The rumors weren’t specific, and she didn’t put much stock in gossip, anyway.

“He said he would be a little late,” Mrs. Crosse said. “He had an NA meeting this evening.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you,” Aidan said, leaning over to mutter into Bridget’s ear. “Ben is doing a lot better lately. He’s trying to turn things around. He even found a job at a coffee shop a few weeks back.”

Bridget gave him a half-hearted smile. She didn’t want to upset him, so she decided honesty wasn’t the best policy for the moment. As uncomfortable as Aidan’s brother made her, she would probably have to suck it up if Ben showed up and started creeping on her again. They could talk about how he made her feel later.

“I’m glad he’s still going, at least,” Mr. Crosse harrumphed.

“He’s trying, Jack,” said Mrs. Crosse. “He’s trying to make amends.”

Bridget sensed an all-too-familiar air of awkwardness in the room. It seemed like she was intruding on family matters that didn’t concern her. She would have stepped out of the room, but she couldn't get up without significant effort on her part. It was yet another instance in which having such massive breasts was a pain in the ass. Mrs. Crosse seemed to sense her discomfort and changed the subject.

“So, Bridget,” she said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Jack and I saw you on TV last night.”

Bridget’s fork stopped a few inches from her open mouth. She snapped her jaws shut and set it down on her plate again. Tension gripped every fiber of her being as she tried not to show her anxiety.

“You saw that?” Bridget asked, her voice reaching a higher pitch than she intended.

“To be honest, I was a little surprised. Your mother told me you’ve been a lot more reserved than you used to be, but you seemed awfully confident to me.”

“Well, um, I’ve been trying to be more confident lately. A friend of mine keeps telling me I need to own my…um, look, I guess?”

More than ever, Bridget wanted to find some excuse to get up and leave the dining room for a few minutes. Not only could she not think of a way to do it that wouldn’t be obvious to the Crosses, but she didn't think she could stand up on her own. Her legs were still tired from her earlier activities with Aidan.

“I thought it was interesting,” Mrs. Crosse said. “I had never considered how many others there may be out there with your condition. It must be rare.”

Aidan looked mortified as his mother danced around the subject of his girlfriend’s boobs. Bridget found she didn’t mind, though. She thought of Mrs. Crosse as family in a lot of ways, so she supposed she got a pass.

“It was kind of a weird situation,” she said. “I met Dana Daniels at Aidan’s first game this season.”

“Oh, that’s right!” said Mr. Crosse, beaming at his son. “Aidan’s big break! I hated to miss that.”

Bridget decided not to bring up the other events that had occurred that day. Particularly the ones regarding Eva.

“Yeah, well, she told me she knew about a lady who was in a similar situation. She claimed she would be able to help me out or at least give me some advice. I'd never heard of anyone else like me, so I wanted to meet her, but Dana would only agree to set up a meeting if I did an interview.”

“Quid pro quo,” Mr. Crosse grumbled. “Sounds like the press.”

Everyone looked at him, expecting him to say more, but he only looked bashful.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt, sorry. Go on with your story.”

He slouched back in his seat and took another bite of his meal. Bridget flashed a questioning look in Aidan's direction. He only shrugged, so she launched back into her story.

“Anyway, you know the next part. I did the interview and met Victoria. I had a conversation with her before she had to leave for her book tour or whatever, and now my parents are both pissed off—”

She stopped cold, cursing inwardly at herself. She hadn’t meant to blurt that last bit. Mrs. Crosse immediately leapt upon this new morsel of information.

“Your parents are angry with you?” she asked. “Why would an interview—?”

“Forget I said anything,” Bridget interjected. “I was being dramatic. My mom doesn’t like the press, is all.”

“I reckon she doesn’t,” Mr. Crosse said. “She dropped her job at the station like a hot brick once you were born.”

Bridget looked at him and saw something like regret cross his face.

Or maybe…resentment? She thought.

“We worked together back then,” he said.

That surprised Bridget. Her mother had never mentioned the Crosses had been anything but Aidan’s parents and their almost-neighbors. She had no idea there was more history between their families. Her thoughts shifted between the twin revelations, and she asked herself dozens of questions until it felt like she had some sort of mental whiplash.

Why was everyone involved in Channel 5 so bitter? Had there been some sort of coup at the network back in the day? Why had her mother never mentioned any of her past work experience before? Was there a messy history there? Had Mr. Crosse and her mom ever been romantically involved? Everyone she knew that was ever involved with the local press acted like rival houses in some medieval drama.

“What did you do back then?” Bridget finally asked out loud.

“He was a sportscaster and producer,” Mrs. Crosse answered for her husband. “But he doesn’t like to talk about it. That line of work can be very cutthroat.”

“I can talk about it, Audrey,” said Mr. Crosse before looking pointedly into Bridget’s eyes again. “Before you and Aidan were born, your mom and I were trying to bring real news back to popularity. Everything was going the way of that damn ‘reality’ TV—”

He made little air quotes with his fingers as he said “reality.”

“—and sensational journalism that relied more on drama and half-truths than simple facts. We wanted to do stories on real people in the community and real problems they were facing. We hoped to shine a light on corruption, get some recognition as real journalists, and put some attention on what needed fixing.”

“Let me guess,” Aidan scoffed. “That didn’t work out?”

“Not even a little bit,” his dad said as he shook his head. “Our bosses wanted big, flashy, saccharine stories that were more fiction than fact. Stirring the pot made people feel bad, or so he said. No shit people felt bad. We were trying to show how bad things were getting here in town and get them mad enough to do something about it.”

“You were about fifteen years too early,” said a new voice from the doorway.

It was gruff and haggard, and it surprised Bridget to see who it belonged to. She had expected to see an old, battle-scarred war veteran step into the room, but it was Benjamin Crosse.

“Now some guys make millions talking about stuff that makes poor people sad and angry.”

Ben looked tired, weathered, and far too thin to be in good health. The last time she had seen him, he was about the age she was now and had a more athletic build like his brother. He still had some of his looks, but they had hollowed out. It was like pictures she had seen in history books of people with tuberculosis. All pale skin, prominent cheekbones, and dark circles under the eyes.

“Right you are, Ben,” Mr. Crosse grumbled. “Feeling alright this evening?”

“Clean and sober for another day.”

Ben answered with a grimace that may have been his attempt at a grin. Bridget’s opinion of him changed completely now that she saw him in such a state. Rather than the strong, if uncertain, dislike she had felt for years, she felt sympathy. She could forgive a guy who was down on his luck and trying to turn his life around for what he had been before getting himself under control. She was still wary of him, but she didn't see him as the threatening creep she once had. Then she remembered Les’ sob story and stiffened in her seat. As she looked at him, their eyes met for an instant. Most importantly, they stayed there. She didn’t catch the usual flick downwards to check out her boobs. That was something, at least.

“Hi,” he said with another lopsided sneer and a halfhearted wave. “Bridget, right? I haven’t seen you around for a while.”

He broke off the eye contact, but his gaze shifted to the crepes and stew rather than her chest. His eyes lit up at the sight of his mother’s cooking. It may have been the most genuine expression of joy Bridget had ever seen on his face.

“Grandma’s crepes!” Ben cheered, taking his seat in a rush. “What’s the occasion?”

“Bridget and Aidan have finally become an item,” said Mr. Crosse, waggling his eyebrows at his son. 

“Don’t tease them, Jack,” Mrs. Crosse cut in.

Mr. Crosse shrugged and shook his head but went on chuckling to himself as he returned his attention to his meal. Mrs. Crosse turned to her eldest son and explained.

“It's got nothing to do with celebrating all that. I only wanted to give Bridget a nice welcome. It’s the first time we’ve had her over as a guest since she was a little girl.”

Ben looked at Aidan, who had kept his head down throughout most of the dinner conversation. He had redoubled his efforts now that his elder brother was around and was busying himself with his food. Ben smirked at his little brother.

“Finally manned up and asked her out, huh?” Ben asked.

Aidan went stiff and looked like he wanted to reply, but he had just taken an enormous bite. His face turned red as he choked down the oversized mouthful.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He wheezed once he had cleared his throat with a few gulps of water.

“You know what I mean, kid. I used to tell you to grow a pair and ask her out all the time. You wouldn't shut up about her for years.”

Aidan might have blushed, but it was hard to tell when his face was already red. Bridget felt her own face growing hot. Their newly deepened relationship was less than 24 hours old. She wasn't ready for people talking about their relationship in such a casual fashion.

“I don’t mean to make a big deal out of it,” Ben said as he loaded his plate up and poured two ladlefuls of stew over it. “I’m proud of you, bro. She’s a catch. Aren’t you Bridget?”

“I-I—um…”

Bridget had no idea what to say. Ben Crosse had always been the type of guy to say what was on his mind, no matter how ill-advised it may be. It was part of why she hadn’t liked him in her youth. He had said things about her body that she was too young to be dealing with and that he was too old to be saying about her. Still, he seemed to be making an effort to be more personable now. He wasn’t being cruel to Aidan like he had been in the past. She had Julian, but he had come along so late she didn't know much about being an older sibling. A little teasing was fine, right?

“Sorry, I shouldn't talk about you like that. I meant to say that you're attractive. Way out of Aidan's league, I'd say."

“Alright, Ben,” Mr. Crosse interjected. “Leave it alone.”

His voice was firm but still gentle. Ben looked his dad in the eye and nodded.

“Sorry again,” he said, playing with his food and looking abashed. “I know I have a big mouth.”

“No,” said Bridget, clearing her throat and taking a sip of water. “It’s alright. I’m still a little new to the whole compliment thing.”

Ben gave her what may have been a grateful smile, still keeping his eyes well above her collarbone.

“Why don’t we move on to the second course?” Mrs. Crosse asked, determined to change the subject. “I’ll be right back.”

She went back to the kitchen, and a long, awkward pause stretched between those left at the table. When she returned, she was carrying another large pot of steaming reddish stew.

“Chicken paprikash,” she announced. “Take a little and spoon it into your bowl. I’ll be right back with the dumplings.”

She bustled out of the dining room again, and Mr. Crosse started filling bowls. He handed them out to the rest of the table, starting with Bridget. A moment later, Mrs. Crosse came back and held out a large serving bowl for her.

“Take a spoonful or two of these and stir them into the stew,” she explained, smiling down at her. “I hope you like it as much as the palacsinta.”

As it turned out, Bridget did enjoy the paprikash quite a bit. It was savory and creamy, with a peppery sparkle at the finish. She thought about going for seconds, but after two courses she wasn’t sure she should risk it. She was already getting full, and dessert was imminent. Even Aidan had started pacing himself.

“I’ll go get the rétes.”

“What’s a ray-tish?” Bridget muttered to Aidan, doing her best to pronounce the strange word.

“Pastry, kind of like a strudel,” Aidan explained. “But I don’t know what flavor she went with this time.”

Bridget didn't much care what flavor they were. The only strudels she had ever eaten came out of a toaster, and she could only imagine how much better the genuine article would be. Especially when made by someone who could cook like Mrs. Crosse.

Aidan’s mom brought a platter of golden-brown pastries dusted with powdered sugar. A huge, spiral-peaked dollop of whipped cream sat in the middle of the desserts, looming over them like a mountain. The sweet and tangy scent of blackberries filled the room, accompanied by the rich, nutty undertones of a quality pastry shell. Scents so sublime that Bridget could hardly wait to taste them.

“There’s plenty for everyone,” she said, “but take one to start.”

Aidan reached out and served Bridget a single rétes topped with a generous helping of cream before taking one for himself. She thanked him, already preparing her fork as the plate hit the table. She dug in, and a heavy, purple syrup oozed out of the broken crust. She stuffed a large piece into her mouth, savoring every note of a perfect symphony of berries, pastry, and cream.

“Ohmigod,” she murmured through a mouthful of food.

Then she remembered herself and swallowed before continuing.

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Crosse. This is one of the best meals I’ve ever had.”

She suddenly felt a dull ache in her chest, and a single unbidden tear dripped down her cheek. She wasn’t sad, and her chest didn’t hurt all that much, but something was definitely going on. Her emotions had been a mess for a while now, even without the disaster the previous evening had become. Was it one of those psychosomatic pains she had always heard about growing up? Were her runaway emotions causing physical symptoms now?

“Bridge?” Aidan said, noticing the shimmering line the tear left across her cheek. “You okay?”

“Geez, mom,” Ben joked, elbowing his mother. “Good enough to make her cry!”

“Hush,” Mrs. Crosse hissed, lightly slapping his shoulder. “Are you alright, honey?”

“Um, I don’t…I mean…may I be excused?”

She forgot herself and tried to stand up without waiting for an answer. As she tried to get to her feet, her left breast slammed against the underside of the table. The impact was enough to make everyone’s plates and utensils rattle. Mr. Crosse’s water glass fell over and spilled across the tablecloth.

“S-sorry, I—”

“Hang on,” Aidan half shouted. “I’ll help you up.”

“It’s alright,” Mrs. Crosse assured her. “Ben and I will take care of it.”

Aidan grabbed Bridget under the arms and pulled her out of her seat. Now that she was standing, she realized there was sweat standing out on her forehead. Out of nowhere, she found herself feeling ill and feverish.

“I feel so hot…” she puffed, another tear streaming down her face. “...Aidan, can you help me get down the hall?”

Aidan guided her out of the dining room as Mr. Crosse and Ben busied themselves with the wet tablecloth. Mrs. Crosse had already rushed off to the kitchen for a towel.

“I’m sorry, Aidan,” Bridget whimpered. “I don’t know what’s going on. I feel awful.”

“It’s alright,” he said. “Do I need to take you home?”

Bridget thought about what awaited her there and shook her head. She wasn’t ready to face her mother yet. Especially not while she felt like this.

“I’ll be okay. Just get me to the bathroom. I need to wash my face and cool down for a minute.”

Aidan led her down the hall and helped her squeeze herself through the narrow doorway. The room wasn’t much better, clearly made a long time ago for smaller people, but she managed to turn around to face the mirror without knocking anything off the counter.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Aidan said, closing the door. “I’ll check on you in a few minutes, okay?”

“Okay,” Bridget sniffed.

She looked at herself, her face red and her nose running. She washed her face in the sink, bending awkwardly and squashing her boobs against the cabinets to do it. The cold water felt refreshing at first, but the heat returned soon enough. Worse, it seemed to be spreading.

“Oh no…” Bridget moaned, unwilling to believe what she already knew was true. “You can’t! Not now!”

And for the very first time in her waking hours, her breasts began to expand right before her eyes. It should have been impossible. People didn’t grow that fast. But of course years of overnight growth had already proven that she, for whatever reason, could.

“Nooooooooo…”

She whined, cried, and groaned, but her breasts only continued their march from unwieldy to terrifying. She stood up, while she still thought she could, and leaned back to allow them room to expand over the countertop. Toothbrushes, toothpaste, a soap dish along with its remaining sliver of soap, and a variety of other bathroom accoutrements went flying as she swept it all away in her blind panic. She tried to reach behind her back to unfasten her bra, but she knew it was too late. Even with all the time in the world, she needed help getting in and out of the complicated undergarment.

“Please…stop…” her whines grew more coarse and began to swell into a howl of frustration. “Just stop already!”

Her breasts didn’t listen. Instead, she heard a terrible creaking groan from her bra strap before a few stitches gave up and snapped, which set off a chain reaction. Every stitch her mother had made when she had altered and reinforced the bra gave way in turn until the entire side of her girdle-like bra tore apart. She couldn’t be too upset with it. The poor thing had felt tight for a few days, and it had put up a valiant fight. Panicked as she was, she decided it would be best to struggle out of the ruined undergarment and lift her shirt. Then, bare-breasted, she watched herself grow in grim fascination.

Ultimately, the bra’s failure to remain in one piece was a blessing. As her breasts continued to swell, she realized she would have been trapped in an increasingly undersized and ever-tightening prison that might have caused her to pass out or evensuffocate. She kept telling herself that as the bile rose in her throat while she grew larger and larger with each passing second.

Then she heard a sharp rap on the door.

“Bridget?” Aidan called, sounding worried. “What’s going on?”

“Aidan! Th-they’re—”

The words died on her lips before she could get them out.

“What?”

She tried again, willing herself to go on.

“They’re getting—getting bigger!”

She heard the handle rattle as Aidan tried to get into the bathroom, not thinking of what he might find.

“Let me in!” He shouted. “We need to get you to a hospital! Or…or something!”

Inside the bathroom, Bridget’s breasts had already swelled much larger than their already backbreaking bulk. The countertop, which had only been about two-thirds filled, was now being covered up by rapidly spreading titflesh. Bridget watched in morbid fascination as their peaks rose ever higher, threatening to obscure her view of her own face in the mirror.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the heat dissipated. Her ruined bra lay on the floor beside her, and her top had long since ridden all the way up to her collarbone. Her now fist-sized nipples stood out hard as diamonds from areolae larger than hubcaps. Her breasts, only about the size of extra-large beach balls before, now looked like a pair of flesh-colored beanbag chairs. She couldn’t imagine how much they must weigh, and she was too afraid to drag them off the counter and find out. Instead, she stood there, frozen in shock, as Aidan continued to shout and pound on the door. A moment later, the pounding and shouting ceased, and she heard someone else at the door.

“Bridget, can you hear me, sweetie?”

It was Mrs. Crosse. The sound of another woman snapped her out of her stupor and made her realize she had locked her hosts out of their own bathroom. At best they would think she was up to something; at worst she might make them panic if she didn’t open up soon.

“Mrs. Crosse?” Bridget choked through a fresh wave of tears.

“I’m here, honey.”

“I’m going to open the door, but could you keep the boys out, please?”

There was a long silence, during which Bridget assumed Mrs. Crosse was shooing her sons and husband away. A few moments later, she heard Mrs. Crosse’s voice again, soft, reassuring, and slightly muffled by the door.

“Okay, they’re gone. You can let me in whenever you’re ready.”

Bridget took a few moments to try to pull herself together, then stretched her arm out to one side and seized the door handle. With a turn of her wrist, the door creaked open just enough for Mrs. Crosse to squeeze her plump body through the gap. She quickly turned and shut the door behind her, then spun to face Bridget. Her cheery smile disappeared, and one hand sprang to cover her mouth, stifling an involuntary gasp as her eyes went wide.

“Oh, honey,” she said in a forlorn sort of whisper. “What happened to you?”

“I think I need to go home,” Bridget sniffled. “But I can’t go out like this.”

“No, you can’t,” Mrs. Crosse said, looking around the bathroom for something to cover her with. “I don’t think the shower curtain will quite do it.”

She spun around and opened the door just enough to shout through a small crack.

“Ben! Go get the blue sheets out of my linen closet! Aidan, Jack, stay close for now. I may need you in a minute.”

She shut the door and turned to face Bridget again.

“We’re going to wrap you up and get you into the back of my car. Do you remember my old SUV?”

Bridget nodded. 

“It’s pretty roomy, so you should fit right in after we fold the seats down. Do you think you can lift yourself off the counter now?”

Bridget tried to move the immense weights stuck to her chest but only felt a stretching sensation at the roots of her breast as they sat unmoving on the countertop. She shook her head with huge tears streaming down her face. She didn’t trust herself to speak. It felt like any attempt to do so would result in little more than a loud wailing noise. Mrs. Crosse stared at the monstrosities that passed for her breasts, clearly doing her best to stay positive and hold things together.

“Okay, then here’s what we’ll do. Ben is going to give me those sheets, and I’m going to wrap them around you to cover you up. Hopefully, that’ll also give you some support. With me so far?”

Bridget nodded again.

“Good. Once I wrap you up, I’m going to slide another sheet under you to make a sort of sling. Then I’m going to call Aidan and Ben in here to help lift you. They’ll help you out to the garage, okay?”

Bridget went pink around the cheeks but nodded. She couldn’t believe she was going to have to resort to letting her boyfriend and his rehabilitated perv of a brother carry her tits out of the bathroom. She always imagined that if she hit the point when she couldn’t carry her own boobs, she would at least be at home.

Ah, but that would have been too easy, said the nasty little voice in her head. Nowhere near humiliating enough.

There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Crosse opened it and reached out of the bathroom with one arm. She drew it back with a bundle of neatly folded navy blue sheets in the crook of her elbow.

“Arms up,” she ordered. 

Bridget obeyed, standing as still as she could while Mrs. Crosse stretched, wrapped, and tied multiple sheets together to cover her up. It took three of them all together—two queen-sized ones and a twin. Once she was satisfied that Bridget was suitably covered up, she put her hands on her hips, surveyed her work, and nodded.

“Ready to get out of here?”

Bridget only let out a single hiccupping sob. She dried her eyes with the towel Mrs. Crosse had given her during a crying fit when she saw the third sheet added to her makeshift garment.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, trying her best to smile at the kindly woman.

Mrs. Crosse went to the bathroom door again and threw it wide open. 

“Alright, boys,” she said in a loud, authoritative voice that made both her sons stand up straighter. “There’s a lady in there that needs a couple of strapping young lads to help her out. Aidan, Bridget’s had some sort of episode, and she can’t move so well right now. You’re going to have to use what I rigged up to carry her. Ben, you go help your brother and behave yourself, you hear me? Jack, go start my car. You and Aidan are taking Bridget straight home. Her mom should know what to do from there.”

Aidan stepped into the bathroom and stopped in his tracks. Bridget had grown since he had seen her just fifteen minutes prior. But that couldn’t be right. Where would that kind of mass have come from in just a few minutes?

“H-How?” he squeaked.

“I don’t know!” Bridget moaned, tearing up all over again. “I came in here and I started to feel really hot and then everything…everything—!”

She covered her face with her hands and wept as Ben looked over his brother’s shoulder in stunned silence.

“Okay, boys,” Mrs. Crosse said, loud enough to snap them both out of their stupors. “She’s upset enough without both of you gawking at her. Let’s get her home now. I left some slack on either side of her chest; you’re going to grab that and carry her out, and I’ll make sure she squeezes through the doorway. Is that alright with you, Bridget?”

Bridget nodded, but there was no response. She realized Mrs. Crosse couldn’t see her where she was standing, so she cleared her throat and spoke up through her tears.

“Okay!”

Aidan slipped around to Bridget’s left side and grabbed the end of the sheet threaded underneath her boobs. Ben grabbed the right side, eyes pointed skyward as he muttered something that almost sounded like prayer. Once they were all sure they had a solid grip, Mrs. Crosse began guiding the process.

“Alright, now lift!” Mrs. Crosse shouted.

The Crosse brothers lifted, grunting softly as they felt the weight of Bridget’s massive tits pulling at their muscles. Aidan was an athlete and in particularly good shape, so she felt confident that he would be able to move her, but Ben, borderline emaciated as he was, was another matter. To her surprise, he was quite wiry and seemed to be able to hold her bulk without too much trouble once the initial lift was out of the way.

“Good, good. Bring her forward and go slow. Are you alright, Bridget?”

”I’m alright for now.”

“Good deal. Now take a step forward.”

Bridget, Aidan, and Ben each took one shaky step toward Mrs. Crosse at different times. They stopped at different times, as well, which made Bridget shake and jiggle uncomfortably as she came to a stop. At her size, it was something like being attached to two giant water balloons

“Alright, we need to work on your timing, but that wasn’t too bad. One more, everyone try to move together.”

They all stepped forward again, this time slightly more in time with each other. As they came to a stop, Ben nearly lost his grip, but he managed to recover before Bridget’s right breast could drop to the ground.

“Sorry, Bridget,” he grunted. “You alright?”

“Y-yes,” she said, blushing and sniffing at the same time.

“Mom, can we just get going? This isn’t the easiest thing to hang onto, you know.”

“Hold your horses, Ben,” Mrs. Crosse replied. “We have to work our way down to the garage. We’re probably going to have to stop a few times along the way. Now, everyone turn to your left and bring Bridget through a little bit at a time.”

Aidan ended up needing to squeeze Bridget’s left tit through the doorway first, then they had to spin her around clockwise so Ben could do the same with her right one. Once they got her out, they let her boobs rest on the floor so they could catch their breath. Bridget couldn’t believe how much heavier she had become in just a few minutes. She had thought it had been bad before, but now, unable to move on her own, she felt like a beached whale.

Mrs. Crosse put a hand on Bridget’s shoulder and called out in the same commanding tone she had used earlier.

“Everyone up, let’s get down to the living room, at least.”

Ben and Aidan stood up straight again. Aidan cracked his knuckles and grinned at Bridget, while Ben stretched his neck out, craning it to either side. They both looked determined and ready to take on the task. Bridget felt a strong flash of affection for both of them, especially Aidan.

“That’s it! Great job, boys!”

Mrs. Crosse said, encouraging her sons once they had lifted Bridget’s bulk from the floor and started moving her toward the end of the hall with renewed vigor. They struggled that way, a few dozen feet at a time, until they made it all the way to the garage where Mr. Crosse was waiting patiently in the SUV with the rear hatch open. He had already moved Aidan’s car out to the street to make as much room as possible for Bridget. She was mortified that she took up so much space.

“Good work,” Mrs. Crosse told her puffing, red-faced sons as they bent double to catch their breath. “Once you’ve rested a bit, we’re going to need to get Bridget into my car.”

“I’m good to go,” Aidan said, standing upright.

“Same here,” Ben said. “Just needed a second.”

Bridget felt tears well up in her eyes again. She was a literal burden now. She couldn’t even move on her own.

“Let’s get her home, boys,” Mrs. Crosse said. “One last time. Up!”

Aidan and Ben grabbed either end of the sheet and lifted with everything they had. They walked Bridget over to the hatch backwards and she hopped into the trunk, landing hared on her butt. From there, she shimmied her way toward the front seats until they could rest her boobs in front of her. Aidan climbed in after her. Ben stayed behind with his mom.

“Dad and I will help you get into your house. Is that alright?”

Bridget didn’t feel like she had any right to be choosy just then, so she nodded.

“Good deal.”

He pulled the rear hatch closed and sat down in front of Bridget’s chest. There was an embarrassingly small amount of room for him.

How can one girl take up so much space? She thought. I was bad enough before, but now I’m a total freak!

“We’re ready, Dad,” Aidan said. “Go ahead.”

Without a word, Mr. Crosse drove through the open garage door and pulled out onto the street. Bridget could see Mrs. Crosse waving goodbye to her, still smiling for her benefit. Bridget’s affection for her multiplied tenfold, and she gave up acting tough. She let a loud and despairing fit of sobs wrack her body.

“It’s alright,” Aidan said. “You’ll be alright. We’ll figure this out.”

Bridget didn’t bother to reply. She already knew there was no way anyone would figure out her bizarre condition. No doctor had ever found a way to stop it. They had only ever delayed the inevitable. She was doomed to be the girl with the biggest breasts on earth. The only question was how long would she continue to grow and how big would she be by the time they stopped?

If they ever did.