2. “CAN YOU STAND UP,WILL YOU JUST FALL DOWN?” #3
Jocelyn worked her way in and out of the stores lining the square until she found everything on her list. Her tote bulged with ribbon and tissue paper while shopping bags weighed down her arms. Her to-do list had shrunk considerably, and no one had pissed her off, so she regarded the outing as a success until she turned the corner onto Harbor Street and nearly tripped over Rufus, the ancient communal Labrador retriever whose ownership never got conclusively established.
He panted up at her with those aged brown eyes. A soggy tennis ball sat by his paw, and a donated bowl of water rested in the nearby shadows.
“You’re a hazard.” She awkwardly reached through her bags to scratch the old boy’s head. His coat was a patchy mixture of faded browns and incoming grey. “You never visit us anymore. Cordelia misses you.”
His long tongue rolled out of his mouth like a carpet, wafting a generation of bad breath in her direction.
“Phew! Next time I come into town, I’m bringing you a mint.”
His tail thumped once, a polite receipt of the promise, then he returned to rest his grey jaw by his ball.
Jocelyn cut through the alley between The Wilde Kettle and The Salty Pig.
The scent of delicious sea breeze mixed with the bacon-scented air in a combination that smelled like a true good morning in Hideaway Bay.
Even the potent fragrance of rosemary and herbs from Astrid’s apothecary couldn’t compete with the savory scent of fried pork.
The bell above the Wilde Kettle chimed, and Jocelyn’s eyes bulged in panic as Wren emerged from her aunt’s store.
“Jocelyn!” Wren stepped into the sunshine, cradling a small brown bag against her protruding belly.
Shit. Jocelyn quickly made sure her bags were efficiently closed and nearly broke an arm trying to hide them behind her back. “Hey, you... Wh-what are you doing out and about?”
“I’m pregnant, not bedridden. You’re the one who’s usually MIA this time of day.”
“Meh, I wanted to beat the crowds.”
Wren eyed her bags and frowned. “Are you redecorating?”
“Uh…”
Wren Wilde Hawthorne never missed a beat. Even at five and a half months pregnant, when most women would start feeling the strain, she was radiant and sharp as a tack. Jocelyn blamed it on all the organic greens she ate. The girl was a rabbit in human form.
“I’m just avoiding writer’s block,” Jocelyn lied, smashing the bags into a crumpled ball against her hip so none of the contents accidentally showed.
“What did you get?”
“Just crap for the house. How about you?” Jocelyn eyed the paper bag from Astrid’s store. It was likely just herbal teas, but she needed a distraction.
Wren glanced past the curve of her growing belly. “Nothing exciting. Ginger and peppermint tea to help with my morning sickness.”
“You know, I read somewhere that morning sickness is actually caused by the man’s sperm.”
“Really?”
“Yup. So you can thank Greyson for that. Another burden we bear for mankind.”
“We?”
Jocelyn waved away the hopeful look in her friend’s eyes. “You know what I mean. Women. All that shit about Eve coming from a rib is total crap. They came from our womb, not the other way around. And here we are, biblical eons later, still suffering their bullshit as a result of faulty sperm.”
Wren frowned. “Grey’s sperm isn’t faulty.”
“Obviously. But—” Realizing that her pregnant friend might actually have real concerns about the unborn child growing in her uterus, she stopped butchering the stupid factoid she read and simply said, “Never mind. You look great!”
“I feel like a bloated tick about to pop.”
“Oh, please. You’re glowing.” But the closer she looked, the more she noticed the stress hiding in the pinched lines around Wren’s eyes and the tightness of her mouth. Maybe that was more of a sweat-glaze than a glow.
She shifted her bags, the candles getting heavy.
“Oof.” Wren blinked and clamped a hand on her belly.
Jocelyn’s eyes widened. “Are you gonna hurl?”
“No. He’s kicking. Here. Feel.”
Wren snatched Jocelyn’s free hand and pressed it to her protruding stomach. A tiny thump beat against her palm.
She gasped. “Holy shit.”
“Told you.”
“That’s…crazy.” Something tender and unwelcome turned over in her chest. She pulled her hand away.
Wren’s gaze drifted back to Jocelyn’s bags. “What did you get from Paper Moon?”
“Craft supplies. I’m making a vision board.”
Her friend frowned at the lie. “Since when do you make vision boards?”
“I’m evolving as a person, Wren. Growth is a journey. Are you hungry? I could eat. Let’s eat.”
Wren’s frown deepened. “Are you okay?”
She was acting a little spastic. “My sugar’s low. I haven’t had my morning donut yet.”
Her friend studied her with that gentle, knowing expression that made it impossible to lie about anything of real consequence. “Actually, I have been craving pizza. Greyson’s been force-feeding me kale smoothies all week.”
“That sounds horrific.”
“I usually love my smoothies, but this is turning into nutritional cruelty.”
“To think we’ve reached a time when you’ve had enough kale.” Jocelyn laughed. “Come on, let’s get some cheese and carbs in that belly of yours.”
Nonna’s Kitchen occupied the corner where Harbor met Elm, wedged between the Beacon’s office and a vacant storefront. Locals and tourists cycled through the doors of their beloved pizza shop with the regularity of the tides.
The restaurant had stood there since their parents’ parents were kids, and no one knew how old Nonna truly was, but rumor had it she’d been around since God was a boy, longer than most of the buildings surrounding it, and three generations of Russos kept it exactly as Jocelyn remembered from childhood.
Red-checkered tablecloths covered every table, anchored by dripping candles jammed into Chianti bottles. The thick, garlic-soaked heat rolled through the front door like a welcome home.
“I love how you can taste the air in this place.”
“I want to live here,” Wren said, as they claimed the corner booth by the window. It had been theirs since freshman year.
Nick, the youngest of the Russo brothers, came to take their order. “Hey, ladies. What can I get you?”
There was no need for menus. “Just a plain pie and two waters.”
Nick looked at Jocelyn, and she added, “I’ll take a glass of house red.”
“It’s barely noon, Joce.”
“Don’t be one of those judgey pregnant ladies just because you’re sober for nine months. We all have our roles to play. I’m currently trying out for town lush.”
“Stop.” Wren laughed.
Jocelyn’s phone pinged, and she glanced at the screen.
“Who’s that?” Her nosy friend craned her neck with a hopeful smile.
“Settle your tits. It’s just FedEx dropping off the proofs for my next special editions.”
“Oh.” She sank into the booth, mildly disappointed. “Greyson wants to install one of those door cameras before the baby comes. His usual protective nature’s been on steroids since he’s stepped into fatherhood.”
Jocelyn grinned. It was nice to finally see Greyson admitting his love for Wren and embracing this new era of family life they were entering.
“I’ll give him the number of the guy who installed mine.”
Wren snorted. “No thanks. I draw the line at a door camera. I don’t know how you live in a house under twenty-four-hour surveillance. I don’t want to give Greyson any ideas.”
Jocelyn shrugged. “I don’t think about it. I’m the only one who can access the feed, so I still have my privacy. Plus, since I installed them, I don’t worry about the dirty perverts out there anymore.”
“I thought you loved dirty perverts. That’s how you make a living.”
“I love them at a distance.” One home visit from an overzealous fan was more than enough.
It had been a few years since that incident, but it was enough for her to admit that living alone meant she needed additional security around the house. The cameras meant she could sleep soundly at night and trust that if anyone stepped on her property, she’d get notified immediately.
“You might change your mind when Junior gets here.” Jocelyn tipped her chin at Wren’s belly.
Wren shrugged. “We’ll see. You know how I feel about too much tech.”
“I’ll never understand hippies.”
Nick set the glass of wine on the table, and Jocelyn took a sip to soothe her nerves. When the pizza was delivered, ribbons of hot steam rose through the oregano-scented air. Starving, they each tore off slices and doctored up their plates with extra cheese and spices.
“Shit, that’s hot.” Jocelyn blew out a breath as the scalding sauce burned the roof of her mouth. “Hey, Nick, can we also get some breadsticks?”
“With cheese!” Wren yelled, fanning her own mouth.
“Comin’ right up!”
Steam billowed from their mouths as they waited impatiently for the pizza to cool.
Not wanting the conversation to turn back to her, Jocelyn made her own observations. “You look great, by the way. Glowing, or whatever people feel obligated to say to pregnant women when they can’t say the honest thing.”
“Which is?”
“That you look exhausted, but still in a radiant, fertility-goddess sort of way.”
Wren melted in the booth as Jocelyn nailed the truth the way only a best friend could. “I’ve never been so tired in all my life.”
“I bet. You’re building a human in there.”
Wren laughed. “You’ll see one day.”
Would she? Probably not.
A basket of breadsticks landed on their table, and Wren tore into it with the urgency of a woman released from a fiber-based hostage situation. She moaned indecently and shut her eyes. “Mmm, how are they so good?”
“At least you have yummy food cravings. It’s sort of fucked that The Universe punishes us for sex.”
Wren’s eyes opened. “What do you mean? I don’t feel punished.”
“Say that after you go through labor or the next time you’re puking up kale.”
The tension left Wren’s shoulders the way it always did when they stopped pretending and fell into that comfortable reality only best friends could share.