30. Court
30
COURT
T he ride home on Friday is quiet.
I’m aware that I made a tactical error in bringing a jewelry box to a party when I have a pregnant woman in my life.
Our big triumph feels like a disaster, even though nobody said anything to me about it. Not Devin. Not Lucy. No one.
But I know.
As if the world wants to kick us when we’re down, we arrive at my apartment to an envelope taped to the door.
“What is that?” Lucy asks, her voice catching.
I pull out the notice.
It has come to our attention that an animal on a balcony on the east side of the building is defecating onto the street below. Extreme action, including eviction, will be enacted if this situation is not remedied immediately.
Lucy sucks in a breath. “We’re caught.”
“I don’t think so. It’s not addressed directly to us.” I glance down the hall. The closest door on our side of the hall is a considerable distance, but I see a rectangle of white taped to it. “They’re fishing for who it is. Probably every floor on this side got these.”
“But it’s just a matter of time, right? In Summer’s apartment, it was in their lease that they could come in anytime they wanted for maintenance or emergency. They could do that and find her.”
I open the door. “We’ll simply install a more solid barrier so she can’t push her butt behind the edge of the balcony. It will be all right.”
Even as I try to reassure her, Lucy runs her necklace charm up and down the chain in a nervous gesture. When we’re inside, she hurries to the balcony to check on the goat.
I head to the green bedroom to ensure that the baby items were delivered as expected.
The door is open, and when I flip on the light, I’m greeted with a mountain of boxes, packages, and clothing. Maggie has already started washing them, and a clean folded basket of onesies, blankets, and cloth diapers rests on the end of the bed.
Lucy comes up behind me.
“Everything okay on the balcony?” I ask.
“Yes. Matilda is sleeping.”
“Our order came in.”
“Oh! Look at it all!” She reaches in the basket to lift one of the tiny garments to her nose. “They smell so good!”
“They probably won’t for long.”
Lucy grins and picks up a blanket to rub against her cheek. Her eyes grow wet. “He’s really coming. He has a place to sleep. And things to wear.”
“And a name.”
She clutches a blanket to her chest. “And a name.”
I want to say something about the snafu at lunch. The words are on my lips.
But Lucy beats me to it. “Can you believe everyone thought you would propose? We’ve only known each other for two weeks!”
“I should have given you the necklace in private.”
Her hand flies to it. “It’s lovely. I saw the words ‘Natural Outfitters’ on the box. Did you pick it up when we went shopping that day?”
“Actually, I got it when I bought the shoes.”
Her eyes widen. “Back then? But you hated me that day!”
“I didn’t hate you. I was just… blindsided.”
She sets down the blanket and walks into my arms. “I was blindsided when I found out, too.”
We stand there together, surrounded by the baby’s things. It doesn’t matter what everyone else thought. The important opinion is hers, and we’re fine.
On Saturday morning, we tackle assembling the bassinet and baby swing. We keep the goat close by until we can fortify the balcony. Lucy has to stop her from eating the colorfully printed cardboard.
“Too many dyes, baby girl,” she says. “I’ll get a carrot in a minute.”
When we’ve made a big enough dent for the day, we head to the living room to rest and go over the hospital plan. With only eight days until her due date, we are, as they say, in the “zone.”
“Come, Matilda,” Lucy says, patting the sofa beside her.
But the goat circles the coffee table, lifting and lowering her head like she’s upset.
Lucy sits up. “What’s wrong, baby girl?”
Matilda prances back and forth, so Lucy gets closer. “Are you hungry? Need more forage?” She turns to me. “Is there a shrub out there, or did she finish it off?”
“Still half of one when I went out this morning. You want me to go check?”
“And we’re sure it was a safe one? No boxwood or Chinaberry?”
“It’s the same kind we had delivered a few days ago. They’ve been good about sticking to the approved list.”
Lucy reaches out her hand to stroke the goat’s head, but Matilda backs up. She races around the coffee table and leaps onto the sofa.
I’m about to bail, not wanting my usual head-butting treatment, but Matilda sits right next to me and presses her nose under my arm.
“You think she finally likes me?” I ask. “You do like me, don’t you, Matilda?”
“So, now she has a name!” Lucy says with a laugh.
“She does if she likes me.” I pat her belly.
Lucy comes to pet her, but Matilda tenses and lowers her head.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “Why is she acting like you’re me?”
Now Lucy looks worried. “I’ve seen this behavior in BeeBee’s goats. Let me feel her belly.”
She reaches out, but Matilda lets out a low warning bellow.
“Matilda!” I say. “That’s Lucy! Your mom!”
But Matilda is unfazed, snapping at Lucy each time she reaches for her.
“Let me get some carrots.” Lucy heads to the kitchen and returns with an entire bunch. “Would you like a treat, Matilda?”
Matilda presses more tightly to me, as if Lucy is offering her poison.
“Here, you give them to her.” Lucy passes the carrots to me.
I hold them in my lap, and Matilda immediately begins chomping on the ends.
Lucy sneaks up and presses her hands on the goat’s belly. “Oh, no.”
“Oh, no, what?”
“She’s pregnant.”
I almost jump up but catch myself before dislodging the goat.
“How?”
Lucy sits on the coffee table. “Probably at the farm. I let her wander. Maybe she found a roving uncut male.”
“That place is the gift that keeps on giving. How did you know she was pregnant from her behavior?”
“It’s a common trait in a female goat to completely flip their personality when the hormones hit.” Her eyebrows draw together in concern. “I’m afraid our time here is limited.”
Everything in me goes still. “What do you mean?”
“It’s already been too long for Matilda to be on a balcony in the city. The building is on to us. And now she’ll have a kid? We can’t do this to her or her baby. They need space. The baby needs to learn to forage and jump on heights and protect itself.”
“How long is a goat pregnant?”
“About twenty weeks.”
That’s a good amount of time. “We have five months to figure this out.”
But Lucy shakes her head. “She needs better nutrition.”
“We’ll get her what she needs.”
“She needs space. Outdoors. Room to run.”
Bits of carrots fly out of Matilda’s mouth as she chomps.
“Are you saying we have to leave here? That I have to give up my place for a goat?”
“So now she’s just ‘a goat’ again? Now that she’s pregnant and too much trouble?” Lucy’s voice becomes high and strident.
Mine rises to match. “She dumped her loads off the edge of the balcony on purpose.”
“She’s adapting to her situation the only way she knows how!”
“She’s an animal. She does what we say.”
“She’s not an animal! She’s Matilda!” Lucy tugs on the goat’s neck, but without a collar or lead, she can’t make any headway on pulling her away from the carrots. Then she sucks in a breath and holds her belly.
My anger instantly drains. “Contractions?”
“No, it’s the stupid belly pains. They never end! This ridiculousness never ends!”
I want to reach out for her, but Matilda is firmly ensconced on my lap. By the time I extricate myself from the carrots and the goat, Lucy has run to her old guest room and slammed the door.
Well, this is great. Just great.