“Just a few bucks for door-to-door delivery.” The woman had been so relieved to be rid of him, of this burden, that she’d practically hurled Ferdinand out the window without stopping.
“I still think you got ripped off. They sold you a corpse.”
She wanted to be offended, but he wasn’t completely wrong. Ferdinand was extremely old and, if the smell was any indication, a little sick. If he were a human, his family would be telling him to get his affairs in order. But that was perfect for Wren, really, when she thought about it. Low commitment, temporary. She wouldn’t get too, too attached. There wouldn’t be time for that by the look of him. The crusty, weepy eyes. The foggy pupils. All the signs were there that he was not long for this earth.
“There are a few things you should know about him,” she said. “One, he has arthritis. Two, he only eats raw foods—it keeps his skin from flaring up. And three”—here she lifted Ferdinand’s little paws up into a playful begging pose—“he loves you already and really wants to stay.”
Arthur and Ferdie—Wren had already decided on his official nickname—stared at each other.
After a moment, Arthur stood, as if to make a proclamation.
“Fine. But I’m not taking care of him, OK? If you want to do this, I support you, in the sense that I will be completely neutral and not involved at all. It’s on you to feed him and give him his pills.”
“Anal suppositories, actually.”
“Oh, for the love of…Andyouare going to take him on walks and all that. And I’m not gonna do the thing where I slowly fall in love with him and he ends up becomingmydog, OK? So don’t hold your breath. I’ve got enough to deal with being hopelessly unprepared for fatherhood.”
“Yes, sir,” Wren said, with a mock salute.
Arthur turned to head to the kitchen but caught himself. “Oh, and you’ll have to tell the leasing office so we don’t get evicted.”
“Don’t worry about him,” she whispered to Ferdie as Arthur rounded the corner out of sight. “Now, come on, let’s go get in bed.”
She was sure Arthur wouldn’t mind.
The next day, it was time again for another exam. These goddamn exams had been multiplying like rabbits. First it was once a month, and now every week. But it was starting to feel like even more than that, as if Dr. Abadi were poking and prodding Wren every other day. As such, Wren insisted that Arthur sit this one out. It felt overly doting to have him always dropping everything to tag along. Admirable, but unnecessary.
Plus, leaving him at home was a good way to force him to bond with Ferdie. She imagined the two of them makingawkward small talk over breakfast and eventually finding common ground in their shared love of bacon.
“So you’re back,” the doctor said flatly. “It’s nice to see you again.”
You would not have guessed it was nice by her facial expression and tone of voice. But she was always like that. Or maybe she was still pissed at Wren for suffering a totally avoidable fall at a sporting event she never should have attended.
“Guess I just missed you,” Wren teased, standing there awkwardly in her gown, the cold room giving her flesh goose bumps all over.
“Come on, sit, let’s have a look at you.”
“I thought because I was just here the other day that maybe we could rubber-stamp this one. Whadya say?”
Dr. Abadi’s face said no. Wren sighed and took her position on the exam table, and the doctor wheeled herself forward on her little stool and snapped on a rubber glove. Wren really hated these visits. They were tedious and invasive, and it was torture to endure the same thing over and over and over.
“I took a look at your vitals,” she said as she applied water-soluble lubricant to her fingers. “Still not thrilled about your blood pressure. Have you been taking it easy? Staying at home?”
“Me?” Wren said, feigning shock. “I’m the ultimate homebody.”
Dr. Abadi paused. “It’s not a joke, Wren. You have to take care of the baby, and your own body, too. There could be serious consequences if you don’t.” She didn’t belabor the point, just resumed the exam, the discomfort of which seemed to act as something of a punishment on its own.
Wren stared at the ceiling and tried to disassociate from her lower half. Feeling like this was all just a little bit unfair.Shewastrying to take care of the baby; why couldn’t anyone understand that? By trying to become the best version of herself, she would unlock her full potential as a mother. How was she supposed to accomplish that by sitting at home? Maybe her methods were, say, unusual. But it’s not like anyone had ever been there to show her how to do it by the book. By all accounts, her mom was a screwup, too, just like her. Could never seem to hold down a job, thought extra-sweet jarred applesauce counted as a vegetable. So being irresponsible was embedded in Wren’s DNA somewhere. And yeah, it was tragic and all, but sitting around crying about it wasn’t going to change anything. So she had to keep moving.
She would try to be a little more careful, that much she could do. But she wasn’t going to give up on the bucket list, no freaking way.
11
It took a little cajolingto get Wren in the car, but the promise of hitting the Wendy’s drive-through on the way home proved to be enough convincing. (Though Arthur almost lost her when he suggested they stop off for toilet paper, dish soap, and bread on the way to the showing.)
Yes, he had scoured the listings, filtering out all the homes out of their price range and leaving behind a paltry, depressing selection. Horrifically outdated homes with visible water damage, total teardowns, and properties that warned of the gruesome crimes that had once been committed there. That was all that was left.
But there was one. Just one. And it was beautiful. Just the picture-perfect neighborhood. Gorgeous cream-white siding, old-fashioned country-style shutters, big windows, a front porch big enough for a rocking chair. The inside was even better—gorgeous hardwoods, an open floor plan, an adorable kitchen that reminded him so much of the one he grew up in, down to the high-top table in the corner where he’d eat his mom’s homemade waffles every Saturday morning.
