“Haven’t I told you to stick toThe Athleticand 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 therewasan 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. NotWe don’t want kids right noworWe’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 agreat 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 areyoufeeling 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?
