Chapter 7
“I can’t believe I met Poe!” Wren exclaimed from the passenger seat.
With the seat slid all the way back, she just barely fit in the front of Charlie’s near microscopic car.
Which was somehow packed with far more garbage than it had any business holding on to, like a tiny ant carrying an entire potato chip.
Though well-manicured on the outside, her friend had always been a slob, and that much hadn’t changed.
Charlie, driving, was incredulous. “You didn’t meet him, you fell on him, Wren. He tore his ACL. They say he’ll miss the season.”
“Wait, where did you read that?”
“Barstool.”
“Haven’t I told you to stick to The Athletic and the local beat reporters? Those skeezeballs will write anything for clicks. Besides, he was laughing, and I definitely got the feeling that if I hadn’t been super, super pregnant, he might have asked me out for a drink after. So…”
“Well, still. It wasn’t a very flattering article.”
“But there was an article about me. I’m basically famous.”
“Relax, they didn’t even use your name. The writer only referred to you as ‘the belligerent woman.’ ”
Wren considered this. On the one hand, she felt bad about what could have happened to the mascot, you know, it being completely her fault and everything.
But to be fair, he knew the risks of his chosen profession.
Dancing around on the sideline of a football field?
Come on. He could get creamed by a three-hundred-pound nose tackle at any moment.
He should be so lucky that a civilian woman fell on him instead, and that he escaped the encounter without injury.
Wren, herself, was fine, by the way. And so was the baby.
Arthur, of course, had insisted on a quick checkup with Dr. Abadi the next morning.
Other than an extremely stern look and another firm reminder to be more careful, she’d gotten off scot-free, which was the universe’s way of telling her to continue on just the way she was. Which she would gladly do.
And besides, it had been worth it. Those few glorious moments of seeing her joyous, pixelated face on the RavensVision screen; the entire stadium screaming for her; Arthur being accosted by a surprisingly strong female usher.
It had been the thrill of a lifetime, given her a jolt of life and energy.
She hadn’t planned on such a kerfuffle, becoming the main character of the entire TV broadcast. It wasn’t necessarily the goal to have people in the surrounding rows craning their necks to get a good look at her.
But at least she felt like she mattered for once.
Like someone noticed her, besides Arthur.
Like her presence was having an impact on the world at large and not just the well-worn part of the carpet at home where she tended to walk frequently between the living room and kitchen.
“So…to Target, then?” Charlie asked. “I must really love you because you know this is so not up my alley. I don’t know the first thing about babies except that they’re born blind.”
“Kittens,” Wren said. “That’s kittens. Common mistake.”
After the embarrassment of showing off the “nursery” to Arthur’s mom, Wren still wasn’t feeling any strong nesting instincts.
But she figured the least she could do was get the kid a bassinet to sleep in.
Ideally one that was on sale. She’d dragged Charlie along because, well, she missed her, and with the two of them together, this would all feel like a hilarious adventure, an outing, and not a boring domestic errand.
Charlie had reluctantly agreed. So far, it had been a smashing success—they’d grabbed lunch in Fells Point and then walked down a few alleys trying to see who could find the fattest rat.
Wren was determined to find a way to relieve this strange tension that had been brewing between them, and so far this outing had been the ticket.
“Think of it this way,” Wren added. “You can watch me flail and fail my way through this whole debacle up close, and that way, you won’t have to make the same mistakes when you and Tristan are ready.”
“Wren, I…” Charlie trailed off, suddenly serious. “It’s just that Tristan and I…” She took a deep breath, steeling herself.
“What is it?”
“We decided we don’t want kids.”
“Oh,” Wren said. Charlie had said it so plainly, so matter-of-factly. So certain. Not We don’t want kids right now or We’re not sure if we’re going to have kids. Charlie was just…out.
“Yeah.”
“Like, ever?”
“Pretty much.”
“OK.” Wren took a breath, exhaled it slowly.
This was fine. It was Charlie’s choice, surely one she’d thought about a great deal, and her happiness and comfort with it was all that really mattered.
Sure, it upended everything Wren thought her own future was going to be.
Charlie was going to be her best mom friend, her confidante, her playdate go-to, chugging wine and watching cheap reality shows while the kids wreaked havoc around them.
They were going to force their children into an arranged marriage regardless of what sex and orientation they turned out.
They had specifically talked about it over the years, even looked at what wedding venues might be available in the year 2050.
In other words, she was going to be lonely in this. The sense of loss was immediate, and deep.
But this wasn’t about her. So she sucked it up. “OK then,” she said, not knowing what else to say. She knew asking too many questions was supposed to be bad, even though she had many of them.
“No, see. You’re all awkward now. You feel weird.”
“I always feel weird, it’s nothing to do with you.
” This probably explained the distance between them lately.
If you’d recently grappled with the decision to spend your life child-free, would you want the responsibility of a baby shower thrust upon you?
Want to be asked to go bassinet shopping?
The weight of the decision was probably still raw, and Wren wasn’t helping.
“Do you have, like, questions or anything?” Charlie fumbled out. She was obviously feeling a little exposed. Wren knew that prying and digging would only make it worse, so she decided to take a different tack.
Her Emo Skate Punk Sad Loner Kid playlist was just getting to the good part, and she cranked the volume way up just as Yellowcard’s signature violins began to whine.
This music always got them in sync and screaming along together, smashing their hands around like drummers.
But Charlie gently reached out and turned it back down.
“So, how are you feeling about everything?” Charlie asked.
“About what? Like, the state of the world? Not great, I guess, but luckily I’m an expert at disassociating.
” She’d given up reading the news and had gently sculpted her social media feeds to be almost exclusively cute dog videos.
Though, somehow, the machines knew enough to keep squeezing the occasional momfluencer in there.
Charlie soldiered on. “You’re so close now, it’s got to be dredging up some…memories.”
Wren was taken aback. What was this, an interrogation? An emotional sneak attack?
“I don’t know, Charlie. I’m just taking it one day at a time and trying not to pee myself ten times a day. Can we turn up the music now?”
“It was really hard to tell my parents, you know, about me and Tristan. They didn’t understand at first. By the way, you have no idea how hard the ‘We’re not mad, just disappointed’ hits when you’re thirty.
Yeesh.” Charlie was wiping away a hint of moisture from her eyes.
“I just always wanted to make them proud, you know? I really wish your mom could see you now.”
First of all, Wren doubted it. But second, no, she was not going to allow this.
She didn’t need some kind of catharsis right now, to be sobbing in the car as a lifetime of trauma leaked out of her.
She needed to buy a bassinet, she needed to finish the bucket list, and, now that she’d put the thought out there, she actually kind of needed to pee.
She didn’t know the genesis of this line of questioning, but for as stubborn as she knew Charlie was, there was nobody who was capable of tearing down her emotional walls when she committed to building them up full strength. Nobody.
“If only Mom had worn a seat belt…” Wren said, trailing off and shaking her head for effect.
“Wren…Jesus. I can’t with you.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Forget it,” Charlie huffed, seeming genuinely annoyed. Even hurt. But come on. Charlie knew how Wren operated. The dark humor and sarcasm shouldn’t have come as some big surprise.
They pulled into the Target parking lot.
Wren was beyond eager to escape the confines of the car and this emotionally loaded pseudo intervention.
She was eager to walk the store and goof around with her best friend.
Like the old days, when they’d play all the demos on the Nintendo Switch in the electronics section or move a bunch of the cat and dog toys into the kids’ area.
“You ready?” Wren asked as Charlie threw the car in park.
“Yeah, actually.” Charlie cleared her throat. “It’s later than I thought and I really should get back to Tristan. He’s cooking sea bass for dinner and he’s, like, obnoxiously excited about it.”
“Oh.”
“Do you mind calling Arthur for a ride? Or I can drop you off.”
A lump formed in Wren’s throat. They weren’t far from the apartment, and Arthur was definitely home. (Where else would he be, parasailing?) That wasn’t the issue. “So you’re not coming in?”
“Well…” Charlie was reconsidering. “I should get Tristan his Perrier real quick. It’s on sale and he’ll want it with dinner. Oh, and his nighttime moisturizer. But I’ll stay out of your hair.”
She didn’t want Charlie out of her hair. She wanted her all up in it, hopelessly tangled like a knot from swimming in the ocean.
“Besides,” Charlie said, as they both stepped stiffly out into the parking lot, “picking out a bassinet is really a you and Arthur thing. But I’ll see ya around.”
Wren began walking toward one of the entrances, where she knew behind those automatic doors lay a rack of candles, the customer service desk, and the baby stuff.
But Charlie bee-lined for the other one all the way on the other side of the building—groceries, pharmacy, toiletries.
There was a very brief moment where they walked toward the store together, and for a second things didn’t feel so weird.
But it quickly became clear they were moving at different cadences, their bodies slowly drifting in different directions.
Quickly, Charlie peeled away with one more stammering “Bye!” and before Wren knew it, her friend was just another blond-haired, yoga-pant-wearing body disappearing into those hungry, looming doors.