Chapter 9
Trace
Moosehead Lodge is exactly as underwhelming as I expected for Gage's bachelor party.
Six guys. Three pitchers of beer. A dartboard with a photo of a moose taped to it for some reason nobody can explain.
"This is it?" I ask Gage as we walk in.
"What were you expecting? Strippers and poker?"
"Maybe a little excitement?"
"We're in Ashwood Falls. This is excitement." He grins. "Besides, Tessa would kill me if I came home smelling like anything other than bad pretzels and cheap beer."
Fair point.
The guys are already here. Old Jim from the hardware store, nursing what's probably his first of many whiskeys. Jake, who runs the lodge, setting up drinks behind the bar. Tyler and Ben, both around our age, are already arguing about something related to fishing.
And then there's Derek, who's holding what appears to be a baby doll.
"Why do you have a doll?" I ask.
"Practice," he says seriously. "You'll thank me later."
"I'm scared to ask."
"You should be." Gage claps me on the shoulder. "Derek has three kids under five. He's basically a combat veteran."
"Four," Derek corrects. "Wife just had another one. That's why I'm here instead of home changing diapers."
"Congratulations?"
"Thanks. I think." He sets the doll on the bar. "This little guy is going to save your ass when that baby comes."
I stare at the doll. It's wearing a onesie that says "I'm what happened in Vegas."
"Where did you even get that?"
"My daughter's toy collection. She won't miss it." Derek grins. "Now, who wants to learn the proper swaddle technique?"
"It's seven o'clock," Tyler says. "Way too early for that kind of trauma."
"Trust me, you'll want to know this stuff," Derek insists, looking at me and Gage. "You are going to be a dad soon. Might as well learn now."
"Trace is having a baby?" Ben looks genuinely surprised. "Since when?"
"Since about seven months ago, apparently," I mutter.
"And you're just now finding out?"
"It's complicated."
"Sounds like it." Old Jim raises his glass. "To complicated situations and the poor bastards who navigate them."
Everyone drinks to that.
I grab my beer and settle onto a barstool. Gage sits next to me, already looking relaxed in a way I haven't seen in weeks.
"You nervous?" I ask him. "About the wedding?"
"Terrified," he admits. "But in a good way. You know?"
"No, not really."
"You will." He takes a drink. "When you stop fighting it and just admit you're in love with her."
I nearly choke on my beer. "What?"
"Patrice. You're in love with her."
"I barely know her."
"You knew her well enough seven months ago." He grins. "And you were moping around ever since she left."
"I wasn't moping."
"You were absolutely moping. I had to listen to it for months." He leans back. "And now she's here, pregnant with your kid, staying in your cabin. What are you waiting for?"
"For her not to run screaming the second I tell her how I feel?"
"Fair." He considers this. "But you're going to have to tell her eventually."
"Yeah. Eventually."
"Before she gets on a plane back to Florida would be good."
That thought makes my stomach drop. "She's not leaving. She said she'd stay through the wedding."
"And after?"
"I don't know." I turn the bottle in my hands. "She won't talk about after."
"Then make her want to stay."
"How?"
"Tell her the truth," Gage says. "That you want her here. That you want to do this together. That you—" He stops. "That you love her."
"I can't just say that."
"Why not?"
"Because what if she doesn't feel the same way? What if it scares her off?"
"And what if it doesn't?" He finishes his beer. "Worst case, she says no and you're in the same spot you're in now. Best case? You get everything you want."
I open my mouth to argue, but Jake calls out from behind the bar. "Alright, gentlemen. Bachelor party tradition—everyone shares their worst parenting moment. Trace, Gage, consider this your education."
"Oh god," I mutter.
"This should be good," Gage says.
Derek goes first. "Kid number two. She was about six months old. I'm changing her diaper, everything's going great. Then she sneezes and simultaneously poops, and I get hit with both ends at once. I'm talking full-on biohazard situation."
Everyone laughs except me and Gage.
"That can happen?" I ask weakly.
"Oh yeah. Babies are tiny chaos machines." Derek grins. "But that's not even the worst part. The worst part is my wife walked in, took one look at me covered in baby fluids, and just said 'Welcome to fatherhood' and walked out."
"Did she help you?" Gage asks.
"Eventually. After she stopped laughing." Derek shrugs. "Point is, you're going to get destroyed by bodily fluids. Accept it now."
"I'm not ready for this," I say.
"Nobody is," Tyler chimes in. "My kid projectile vomited on me during his baptism. In front of everyone. The priest had to pause the ceremony."
"Jesus."
"That's what the priest said too."
More laughter. I take a long drink of my beer.
"It's not all horror stories," Ben says. He's quieter than the others, more serious. "My daughter is two now. Last week she learned to say 'love you' and now she says it constantly. Just random times throughout the day. 'Love you, Daddy.' Like she can't help herself."
The whole group goes quiet.
"That's actually sweet," Jake says.
"It is," Ben agrees. "And it makes up for all the times she's peed on me, thrown food at my head, or screamed for three hours straight for no reason."
"Does it really make up for it?" I ask.
"No," Ben admits. "But you forget about the bad stuff when they look at you like you're their whole world."
My chest tightens. That's what I want. Not just the baby, but the whole thing. The chaos and the mess and the random 'I love yous.'
And I want it with Patrice.
"You're going to be fine," Old Jim says to me. His voice is gravelly from decades of whiskey and cigarettes. "Stop overthinking it."
"I'm not—"
"You are. You've been sitting there spiraling for ten minutes." He gestures with his glass. "Let me tell you something about women. They're independent as hell. They don't need you to save them or fix them or provide for them. They can do all that themselves."
"Okay?"
"So your job isn't to be her hero. Your job is to be her partner. Show up. Do the work. And for god's sake, apologize early and often. It saves time."
"That's your advice? Apologize?"
"It's served me well for forty years of marriage." He drinks. "That and knowing when to shut up and just listen."
"Write this down," Gage tells me. "Old Jim's relationship advice is gold."
"Also," Jim continues, "let her think everything is her idea. Even if it was yours. Especially if it was yours."
"That seems manipulative."
"It's survival." He winks. "Trust me."
Tyler raises his beer. "To survival and the men who master it."
Everyone drinks.
The conversation shifts to fishing, then to some story about Jake’s new beer supplier, then to Gage's upcoming wedding. I'm mostly listening, laughing when appropriate, but my mind keeps drifting to Patrice.
Is she having fun at the bachelorette party? Is she comfortable? Is the baby moving too much? Is she thinking about me?
God, I'm pathetic.
"Alright," Derek announces, pulling the doll back out. "Time for the main event. Diaper changing 101."
"Do we have to?" I ask.
"Yes. Because if you screw this up with a real baby, you'll never hear the end of it." He sets the doll on the bar and produces an actual diaper from somewhere. "Trace, you're up."
"Why me?"
"Because your baby's coming in six weeks," Derek says. "That's not a lot of time to figure this out." He gestures to the doll. "Come on. Show us what you got."
I approach the doll like it might explode.
"It's not alive," Tyler helpfully points out.
"I know that."
"Do you? Because you look terrified."
I pick up the doll. It's surprisingly heavy and floppy in all the wrong ways. "How do I—"
"First, lay the baby down," Derek instructs. "On a flat surface. Not face-first."
"I wasn't going to—"
"Just making sure." He hands me the diaper. "Now, unfold it. Sticky tabs go in the back."
I unfold the diaper. It's more complicated than it looks. "There are multiple layers."
"Yes. That's to contain the horror." Derek watches me. "Now slide it under the baby's butt."
I try. The doll's legs don't cooperate. "It's not working."
"You have to lift the legs," Gage says, trying not to laugh.
"I am lifting the legs."
"Higher."
I lift higher. The doll's legs splay out at weird angles. "This feels wrong."
"It's supposed to feel wrong," Derek says. "Everything about babies feels wrong at first. Keep going."
I manage to get the diaper under the doll. Sort of. It's crooked and half-folded, but it's there.
"Now bring the front up," Derek says.
I pull the front of the diaper up. It immediately falls to the side.
"You have to hold it," Marcus says.
"With what hands? I'm already using both hands."
"Welcome to fatherhood," Derek says cheerfully. "You're going to need more hands than you have."
I try again. This time I hold the front of the diaper with one hand while reaching for the tabs with the other. The doll starts to roll.
"The baby's escaping," Tyler announces.
"Babies don't escape during diaper changes," I argue, grabbing the doll.
"Mine did," Ben says. "Rolled right off the changing table. Wife caught her at the last second."
I stare at him. "That's not helping."
"I’m not here to help; I’m here to mock."
I finally manage to secure one tab. It's at a completely wrong angle, but it's attached. I reach for the second tab.
The first tab comes unstuck.
"Oh, come on."
Everyone's laughing now. Even Gage is doubled over, beer sloshing out of his glass.
"This is impossible," I say.
"It's really not," Derek assures me. "You're just overthinking it. Here, watch."
He takes the doll from me and completes a perfect diaper change in approximately five seconds.
"How did you—"
"Practice. You'll get there." He hands the doll back to me. "Try again."