“Happy—”
“Birthday!” Chuck pointed at her animatedly, then gyrated his hips and waved his hands in the air.
Wren changed her mind.Thiswas the best moment of her life.
“Arthur!” she yelled out. “You’re missing it!”
Mr. Cheese pulled out an assortment of dance movescribbed from, as far as Wren could tell, the YMCA,Boogie Nights, and the Macarena. Finally, she couldn’t bear it any longer, scooted her chair out, and stood, waltzing over to him and dancing right along. It was harder to dance than she remembered, her movements slower, but everyone got the general idea. Chuck even took her hand and twirled her in a circle, then gave her just the slightest dip without allowing her to fall. His grip was firm and protective. She couldn’t believe she was thinking it, but the whole thing was almost romantic. No, sexy. If it hadn’t been for Arthur, and the fact that Chuck E. Cheese was a mouse and this was a children’s establishment, things might have gotten steamy right there in the Yellow room. All the right hormones were firing in that moment.
Wren stopped and stepped away to fan herself and catch her breath.
“Whoever you are under there,” she said, “thank you.”
“Anything for you,” he said.
Wren knew that voice.
A moment later, the furry hands pulled off the head of the costume and the sweaty, panting smile of her boyfriend confirmed it.
“How—”
“Saw it hanging on the wall in the back.” He smirked. “Guess I couldn’t help myself.”
No, no, no. Hands down, final answer: This was the best moment of her life. But she didn’t have long to enjoy it.
“Sir!” It was the teen employee and another worker, a much larger man, hurrying their way from across the arcade.
“OK,” Arthur said. “Probably time to go.”
“What about the cake?”
“Grab it and come on!”
He tossed the head aside and began fumbling around underhis shirt (purple, with a bright yellowC) for a zipper pull. The suit’s gloves were just nimble enough that he was able to grab it and begin to remove the top portion of the costume. Wren grabbed the cake and they made their way toward the exit.
Of course, between the two of them—Wren waddling along holding a giant cake, Arthur shedding pieces of the Chuck E. Cheese costume behind him—they weren’t moving very fast. The workers caught up quickly.
“I don’t get paid enough for this,” the girl whined.
Arthur, hopping along and removing one of the oversize red shoes, was red in the face.
“Sorry, sorry, I’m really sorry,” he said.
“I hope it was worth it,” the large man said. “Because you two are officially banned from Chuck E. Cheese for life.”
“All locations!” the girl added. Wren hoped this wouldn’t have any ramifications for her future child. But she could always use a pseudonym if they ever wanted to come back. How advanced could the security possibly be at Chuck E. Cheese?
Arthur finally removed the final piece. The pants. And handed them over gently.
“Totally get it,” he said.
“Would it help if I told you this was my dying wish?” Wren asked. She got a look of no sympathy. “OK, I’m not saying it is, just asking if it would help. Sorry again and thank you!”
The employees stared daggers at them as Wren and Arthur hurried out the door, Wren careful not to drop the cake on the way to the car.
When they arrived home, they were immediately greeted by the smell of vomit. Sadly, it was not fresh. It was stale, thesmell having dissipated somewhat and permeated the cushions and walls. It was cold, and lived-in, and that was somehow worse than discovering a hot, steamy pile.
“Ferdie, what happened, buddy?” Wren cried out, spotting the yellow crust on the carpet, Ferdie looking up at her with utter humiliation in his eyes. “Are you OK?”
