Chapter 1
Wren Morris was ready, all right.
Ready for everyone to get the hell away from her.
It had been Wren’s idea to have the all-gender baby shower outside, but she never said it was a good idea.
Charlie had put the whole thing on, and admirably so considering how busy she was with her own wedding coming up in just a few short weeks.
She had handled everything from the decorations (Baltimore Ravens tablecloths draped over plastic folding tables) to the food (wings, dips, and brownies that looked like little footballs) to the games (trivia: How many kids did famous NFL players have and by how many different mothers?).
But Charlie and her fiancé, Tristan, were just getting settled into a new place and couldn’t host. And money was tight because of certain unnamed, rash career decisions Wren had made.
Hosting at their own minuscule apartment was a nonstarter for myriad reasons, including space, bugs, and nonfunctioning appliances.
So Wren suggested just doing the thing in the grass outside their building.
As the party wrapped up, she was deeply regretting the choice. The suffocating late July heat had left Wren—who in addition to her height and weight had, at thirty-five weeks now, developed a new measurement: circumference—sopping wet and riddled with mosquito bites.
“Thank you, thanks so much for coming, thank you,” she said, smiling at exiting guests.
She realized no one was listening to her, only touching or talking to her belly, murmuring absurd goo-goo-ga-ga nonsense to it.
“Namaste. Happy birthday. Congratulations. Cowabunga,” she began saying to the line of well-wishers. No one noticed.
A few not overly close friends she’d picked up at her last couple of jobs, a small gaggle of Arthur’s ripe-smelling teacher colleagues, and that was it.
The party was finally over.
Wren hurried over to Charlie, who was neatly boxing up the leftover food, her flowy sundress moving gently with the breeze.
Wren looked down at her own outfit, which she had put very little effort into—an old Ravens jersey and maternity pants—and thought her friend looked more like the mom-to-be than she did.
“Thank God that’s over,” Wren said.
“Gee, thanks.”
“You know what I mean. I’m just hot and my feet hurt and I talked to way too many people about my vagina.”
“OK, but isn’t that normal for you?”
“My feet don’t usually hurt.”
Charlie rolled her eyes but couldn’t fully suppress her laugh.
“Come inside and veg with me,” Wren said. “I’ve been hankering for a relisten of the entire Ford the River discography, and 2000s pop punk always slaps harder when I listen with you.”
“Who’s gonna clean all this up?”
“Arthur’s got it.”
Arthur, who was in danger of being crushed under the massive pile of presents he was carrying, even had one balanced on his chin as he wiggled through the door to their building.
She loved him, but he was not a well-built fellow.
He looked like the Slender Man had picked up a part-time job with a moving company.
“See? Now, come on.”
“I—” Charlie stopped, hesitated.
“What?”
BEEP. A car horn blasted from the parking lot some twenty yards away. Wren turned and saw a shiny sports car with Tristan hanging a tan arm out the window.
“Sorry, Wren. I gotta go. Tristan’s taking me to dinner and he hates to be late.”
“What’s the restaurant? Maybe we could tag along.”
“It’s not a restaurant, per se, it’s more of a culinary experience. One of those dining-in-the-dark places, where the servers are blind and you can’t see the food before you taste it.”
“A culinary experience. Woman, just call it a restaurant.” Wren realized she was snapping at the person who had dropped everything to throw her a baby shower. “But, hey, of course I get it if you guys need some time together.”
“We’ve just been so busy with everything going on.”
Wren fought not to roll her eyes. She appreciated her friend, she really did.
But she and Tristan had just gotten back from the Maldives, and Banff a few weeks before that.
A fancy dinner—sorry, culinary experience—tonight.
Having a sought-after wedding planner taking care of everything, and seemingly no budget limits to speak of, sure sounded like a lot of work.
“I totally understand. Thank you for all this, really. It means a lot.”
Charlie leaned in for a quick hug, then hurried off to the car.
“Hi, Tristan,” Wren called as Charlie got in on the passenger side of the all-white, all-electric sports car.
It managed to be both environmentally conscious and incredibly obnoxious at the same time, which was an impressive feat.
For people who wanted to save the planet but also let everyone know they were insecure about their penis.
“Hey, Wren.”
“Whadya got for me today?”
He ran a hand through his jet-black hair and took a deep, calming breath before speaking. “Don’t deny the world your gifts. Step into your greatness.”
“Hell yeah. Will do.”
Tristan was the douchiest sales bro in the entire city, Wren was sure of it.
She didn’t know if he actually worked in sales, but the title seemed fitting.
He did business, that’s all she knew. And apparently did it quite well.
More interesting to her, he was a grab bag of personal trainer catchphrases.
A self-development podcast come to life.
A walking acai-berry smoothie. She was endlessly tickled by him, and though she hated to admit it, he pulled the ridiculous car off pretty well through sheer earnestness or at least a profound and enduring commitment to the bit.
“You sure you don’t need help cleaning up?” he offered. “I don’t mind.”
“You guys go; I’ve got Arthur.”
Somewhere inside the building, a tumbling sound rang out, like an aluminum cake stand falling down a long flight of stairs.
Wren watched them drive off, and soon enough Arthur was back by her side, panting, sweating, greatly disheveled from a half dozen trips carrying things inside and up the stairs.
“Charlie can’t stay?” he asked. She shook her head. “Well, maybe they’re just in a hurry,” he offered.
“Tristan didn’t seem to be. He offered to help clean up.”
“He offered to what?”
“Nothing.”
Arthur was still out of breath and looked briefly annoyed before softening.
“I’m sorry,” he said, throwing an arm around her. “I’m sure you guys will figure it out.”
There wasn’t much to figure out. Wren hadn’t planned on getting pregnant, hadn’t planned on the due date being so close to Charlie and Tristan’s wedding (September 3 and September 12, respectively).
She’d give anything to be there, but there was a 99 percent chance it just wouldn’t be possible.
In another world, she would have been the maid of honor, and if not that, then definitely the drunkest at the bachelorette party.
Instead, she wasn’t even in the wedding party.
Eventually, Charlie would realize that it wasn’t Wren’s fault. Eventually, she’d come around.
“I know what’ll cheer you up,” Arthur said. “Opening presents.”
“I feel worse.”
Wren had initially been optimistic, and excited even. There was a Target gift card, which was always fun, and a high-end bottle of wine for her to drink literally as soon as medically permissible.
But things went downhill from there. A four-pack of Aquaphor jumbo tubs. A rectal thermometer that looked like an elephant.
But it was the jar of nipple cream that really did her in.
“Where is all the cool shit?!” Wren whined, tossing wrapping paper into the air and out of the way as if sifting through a mound of feces for something, anything better.
“Admittedly, it’s a little dry,” Arthur said, holding a package that contained a long blue tube with what looked like a mouthpiece at the end. “But this is all important stuff we’re going to need. You could have helped me with the registry, you know.”
“I’m the mom. I don’t need some list on a random blog to tell me what my baby needs. I have millions of years of evolutionary wisdom stored in my DNA.”
“OK,” he said. “Then what’s this?” He held up the blue tubey thing.
“A straw,” Wren said confidently. “For breast milk.” She mimed popping one end of it onto her nipple. “That way, your arms don’t get tired from holding the baby. It can just lie down and chill while it eats.”
“So close,” Arthur said. “It’s for sucking boogers.” Wren retched dramatically.
In reality, she knew they needed all this junk.
She’d read the stupid lists. But, come on, it was boring.
And worse, the whole pregnancy had been dreadfully boring.
Nausea and aches and pains and being really tired all the time was hardly the adventure of a lifetime she was hoping for the day she found out she was pregnant.
Today, at least, she would have loved more of an ironic baby shower, like one of those “Over the Hill” birthday parties where you gave people piles of gag gifts.
She wanted a comically large bra with a beer tap on each nipple, a pair of mom jeans that came up to her ribs.
A wineglass the size of a globe, preferably one that said something stupid on the side, like When the kids whine, mom wines.
Worst of all, she was not gifted a single piece of “Live Laugh Love” paraphernalia.
“This one, though,” Arthur said, ignoring her and scooting over a gigantic box wrapped in adorable stork wrapping paper. “This one looks like fun. Help me open it.”
She sighed and stuck out a hand, and Arthur hoisted her up from her comfortable spot on the sofa. They both grabbed a loose corner of the wrapping paper.
“One…two…two and a half…” Arthur counted down, trying to get her to join in.
“Oops,” Wren said, ripping the paper on her side clean off.
“Wow. No showmanship at all, but OK.” Then Arthur got a sliver of a look at what was inside, and his face lit up. He excitedly ripped the rest of the package open.
“You promised me something exciting,” Wren said.