Chapter 15
But the plan was not to go up and knock on the door, beg her friend to forgive her. The plan was to lure Charlie down.
It started with a phone call.
“Yes?” Charlie answered tersely.
“Thanks for picking up.”
“What do you want? Very busy up here.”
“Doing what?”
“Stewing, mostly. Also brooding and ruminating. I’ve got my hands full, clearly, so if you’ve got something to say, let’s get on with it.”
It stung Wren to hear her friend so angry at her. Their relationship had always been full of playful banter, teasing, and even bickering like an old married couple. But a full-on fight was a rarity for them.
“I’m outside your place, but I have something for you. A token of my apologies. Can you come down? I can’t carry it up on my own.” Wren feigned a pregnant, back-aching groan. Whatever it took to play on Charlie’s sympathies.
Charlie huffed, sounding offended that Wren could even think to buy her off with a simple gift. But her curiosity got the better of her. “What is it?” she asked, failing miserably to disguise the hope and excitement in her voice.
“Come down and see.”
Then Wren hung up. With the bait set, there was nothing more to say, and she knew Charlie wouldn’t be able to resist. Sure enough, her friend soon appeared on the sidewalk, dressed casually in leggings and a tank top. Tristan was with her. That was also part of the plan and had been prearranged.
Charlie opened the passenger door. “This better be good. Our elevator is out so I try to limit my visits to the ground floor.”
“Hi, Wren,” Tristan waved from behind his fiancée, not even pretending to be angry on her behalf.
“Heard you might need my brute strength.” He jiggled his pecs through his shirt.
He could do that. While Charlie scanned the interior of the car for the so-called present, Wren threw Tristan a wink, which he returned.
“I got you your favorite,” Wren said, revealing a white cardboard box filled with fresh-baked cookies, whoopie pies, and glistening sticky buns.
Charlie tried to remain stoic, not showing her excitement. “Are those”—she couldn’t help but lick her lips to prevent visible drool—“from the Pennsylvania Dutch Market?”
“The one and only.” Wren grinned. It wasn’t too far from Arthur and Wren’s place, despite the name, and it was always well worth the trip. “Why don’t you grab one?”
Charlie eyeballed them, looked around as if this were some kind of illicit transaction, and took a hesitant step closer.
“That’s it, come on. Just reach in and take whatever you’d like. Atta girl,” Wren said, holding the box out a little, just out of reach of Charlie’s fingertips.
“Is that a…red velvet whoopie pie?”
“You mean this, right here?” Wren picked it up, held it out, agonizingly close to Charlie, who was now bending down through the passenger doorway, reaching, ready to grab it.
With her free hand, she made sure to angle her air conditioning vent Charlie’s way, wafting the fresh bakery scent in that direction.
With one more forward lean, Charlie’s fingers grasped the dessert, and at that, Wren shouted, “Now!” On cue, Tristan gave Charlie the lightest of shoves from behind, sending her tumbling into the car, and he slammed the door behind her.
In an instant, Wren peeled off, trapping her friend inside.
“Are you out of your mind?! You’re kidnapping me?!” Charlie righted herself in the seat and, one hand occupied by the pastry, buckled herself in as Wren sliced through traffic.
“I needed to make sure you’d talk to me and really hear me out.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t deserve it. Where the hell were you yesterday?”
“I know. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to help with the cake.
” Then, tentatively: “How did it go?” Wren never really understood big, lavish weddings, but she knew enough to know that little things going wrong could pile up and become massively stressful for brides like Charlie.
And she knew how important the cake was.
It was the final event of the night, the grand finale, and a centerpiece of a lot of the best photos.
Charlie, she was certain, cared desperately about the photos.
“The cake is whatever; I don’t care about the cake.”
“Then why are you so pissed?”
“Because I wanted to spend time with you! We’ve barely seen each other and you totally bailed on me.”
Wren nodded. “I did, and I’m sorry. It’s just…I spaced and got major pregnancy brain. I left my phone at home and completely lost track of time.”
“Uh-huh.” Charlie wasn’t buying it.
“I know we said we wouldn’t let this push us apart—”
“We’re not growing apart because you’re pregnant, Wren. We’re growing apart because you’re an asshole.”
That stung, too. But, again, it was well deserved.
Wren hadn’t bailed because of a medical emergency, false labor, or feeling ill and exhausted.
She’d bailed because she was too busy thinking about the bucket list, about cramming in as much as she could before the baby arrived.
At the expense of the things that really mattered.
That was not the kind of person she wanted to be. Not anymore.
“Well, I’m here now,” Wren said, laying herself at the mercy of the court. “I screwed up but there’s nothing more important in the entire world to me than a good hang with my best friend.”
“Not important enough to ask for my consent first.”
“I couldn’t risk it.”
Charlie sighed, then finally took a bite of the whoopie pie she’d been holding this whole time, which had begun to dissolve into her fingertips. “Fucking Mother of God,” she moaned. “Those Amish don’t miss.” She devoured the entire thing seconds later.
“Now that I’m here, against my will,” she said as she swallowed the final bite, “where are you taking me?”
“You’ll see.”
“They say you should never allow yourself to be taken to a second location. If you don’t tell me, I’m gonna scream.”
Wren smirked. “Someplace we haven’t been in a long, long time.”
Wren dragged her friend through the door of Walt’s Inn.
“Wren, stop, we’re too old for this,” Charlie whined.
The bar was like all of Baltimore’s best. Long, extremely narrow, and smelling of spilled Natty Boh and buffalo wings.
It wasn’t much to look at, at all. But it was known as one of the best karaoke spots in the city.
Not renowned for its flashy lighting or slick auto-tune, no.
This was a place for the diehards who wanted to sing raw and loud.
Except this was a Tuesday afternoon and the place was empty except for one hardened, potentially toothless older man at the end of the bar downing pints.
“Exactly. We are most definitely too old for this,” Wren agreed.
Karaoke at Walt’s was a staple of their nights out in college, but the tradition died out quickly after graduation.
Of course there were the stubborn years, the two friends yawning as they pushed their way through the crowded bar and tried to pretend they weren’t too tired from work to party.
But by twenty-five they had given up even pretending.
It was a decision that Wren deeply regretted.
“So what are we doing here, then?” Charlie asked, leaning against the bar. A bald, flannel-wearing bartender approached and gave a subtle flick of his head, What can I get you?
“Two seltzers with lime,” Wren said. “And a microphone.”
“Karaoke doesn’t start until six,” he reminded them.
“Buddy, I plan to be in my pajamas by then. Can’t you make an exception?” She pushed her belly out for emphasis, as if it wasn’t already obviously protruding enough.
The bartender smirked and nodded. He was way cooler than the skydiving guy.
“Wren,” Charlie said, a reminder that she was still waiting on an answer: What are we doing here?
“Because I have not only diagnosed our problem; I have prescribed the solution: We need a little of the good old days,” Wren said simply.
“The good old days…”
“When things weren’t so complicated, and life wasn’t always getting in the way.”
The bartender returned with drinks and two microphones, flicking a few switches and powering on the karaoke setup at the front of the bar.
“So whadya say?” Wren asked, taking hold of one of the mics and offering it to Charlie.
“All right. We’re here,” Charlie said, reluctantly snatching the mic with a little less enthusiasm than Wren had hoped for. “What are we singing?”
“Oh, like you don’t already know.”
They told the bartender to cue up Ford the River’s first big single, “17th Summer,” and the regular at the end of the bar clapped politely at their enthusiastic off-key performance.
The bar was still empty when they were done, so they followed it up with hits from Yellowcard, State Champs, Stand Atlantic, and Baltimore’s own All Time Low.
OK, so Wren realized she wasn’t exactly taking it easy. But she performed the last handful of songs while sitting on a stool, at least. She’d even switched from seltzer to regular water after the first drink. She was not only sitting, but hydrating. That was progress.
When they were finally breathless and parched, their throats shot and raw, they downed another round of seltzer waters and traded burps in a fit of giggles.
“So?” Wren said expectantly, when the laughter had finally died down.
“What?”
“You know what.”
Charlie grabbed a handful of peanuts from a bowl on the bar that hadn’t been cleaned since the nineties, a petri dish of disease, and began cracking open one of the nuts.
“If you’re asking if I forgive you, the answer is yes.”
Wren sighed a loud exhale of relief. “Good. So everything’s back to the way it should be.”
“Yeah,” Charlie said, scratching her head now. “I guess it is. And that’s kind of the problem.”
“Problem?”
“Never mind.” Charlie ate a peanut and set out on shelling the next one.
“Don’t do that.” Wren gave her a playful little shove. She hadn’t come this far to not get everything out on the table.
“Don’t you think our friendship has to evolve, Wren?” Charlie said, exasperated, as if she’d been holding this thought in for a long time and simply couldn’t manage it anymore. “Nobody loves drunk karaoke, and watching trashy reality shows, and ribbing each other endlessly more than me.”
“OK? So what’s the problem?”
“I want there to be more to our friendship.”
“There is more to our friendship.” Wren couldn’t believe what she was hearing. They were best friends. They told each other everything. When had that ever been in question? “And we’re not even drunk! We’re being extremely mature.”
She held up her water, her plain water, as if it was proof.
Charlie could only sigh. You don’t get it.
“And speaking of old times, I decided something,” Wren said, improvising and determined to up the ante. “I am coming to the wedding, come hell or high water or newborn baby infant.”
“Wren, you can’t promise that.”
“Yes, I can. I might go into labor at the reception, or if the baby comes sooner than that, I might show up in a wheelchair with my body beaten and battered to hell. But I will throw on a dress and show up for you. No matter what.”
To Wren, this was an evolution. She was legendary for flaking on RSVPs, commitments, and pretty much anything planned in advance. A promise to show up was uncharted territory for her, especially with so many unknowns in the equation. It showed depth of character. It showed maturity.
“I don’t know…” Charlie trailed off.
“Are you saying you won’t have me?”
“Of course I’ll have you, idiot,” Charlie said. “I just need to call the caterer and save you a plate.”
“Just one?”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Wren hugged her friend.
Charlie was still a little stiff, but it felt so good to be reunited.
“But there is one thing,” Charlie said, pulling away suddenly.
“There’s been a slight change in plans. I literally just found out yesterday but, you know, I wasn’t speaking to you. ”
“What is it?”
“Remember the original venue we wanted but couldn’t get because it was all booked up? Guess who had a last-minute cancellation—the event coordinator wasn’t supposed to tell me but she let it slip that the bride and groom found out they were related, sooooo…”
“No way, you booked it?!” She didn’t remember. Wren was sure they’d talked about it, but she couldn’t recall. Pregnancy brain, surely. Or maybe this was exactly the kind of gap in their friendship Charlie was talking about.
“It’s been a little insane, OK, completely bananas, trying to switch everything over at the last minute, but YES! It’s like I always dreamed of. And I’m so excited you’re going to be there to help us celebrate at the aquarium.”
“Wow. How about that?” was all she could manage to say.