“Because I wanted to spend time with you! We’ve barely seen each other and you totally bailed on me.”
Wren nodded. “I did, and I’m sorry. It’s just…I spaced and got major pregnancy brain. I left my phone at home and completely lost track of time.”
“Uh-huh.” Charlie wasn’t buying it.
“I know we said we wouldn’t let this push us apart—”
“We’re not growing apart because you’re pregnant, Wren. We’re growing apart because you’re an asshole.”
That stung, too. But, again, it was well deserved. Wren hadn’t bailed because of a medical emergency, false labor, or feeling ill and exhausted. She’d bailed because she was too busy thinking about the bucket list, about cramming in as much as she could before the baby arrived. At the expense of the things that really mattered. That was not the kind of person she wanted to be. Not anymore.
“Well, I’m here now,” Wren said, laying herself at the mercy of the court. “I screwed up but there’s nothing more important in the entire world to me than a good hang with my best friend.”
“Not important enough to ask for my consent first.”
“I couldn’t risk it.”
Charlie sighed, then finally took a bite of the whoopie pie she’d been holding this whole time, which had begun to dissolve into her fingertips. “Fucking Mother of God,” shemoaned. “Those Amish don’t miss.” She devoured the entire thing seconds later.
“Now that I’m here, against my will,” she said as she swallowed the final bite, “where are you taking me?”
“You’ll see.”
“They say you should never allow yourself to be taken to a second location. If you don’t tell me, I’m gonna scream.”
Wren smirked. “Someplace we haven’t been in a long, long time.”
Wren dragged her friend through the door of Walt’s Inn.
“Wren, stop, we’re too old for this,” Charlie whined.
The bar was like all of Baltimore’s best. Long, extremely narrow, and smelling of spilled Natty Boh and buffalo wings. It wasn’t much to look at, at all. But it was known as one of the best karaoke spots in the city. Not renowned for its flashy lighting or slick auto-tune, no. This was a place for the diehards who wanted to sing raw and loud.
Except this was a Tuesday afternoon and the place was empty except for one hardened, potentially toothless older man at the end of the bar downing pints.
“Exactly. We are most definitely too old for this,” Wren agreed. Karaoke at Walt’s was a staple of their nights out in college, but the tradition died out quickly after graduation. Of course there were the stubborn years, the two friends yawning as they pushed their way through the crowded bar and tried to pretend they weren’t too tired from work to party. But by twenty-five they had given up even pretending. It was a decision that Wren deeply regretted.
“So what are we doing here, then?” Charlie asked, leaningagainst the bar. A bald, flannel-wearing bartender approached and gave a subtle flick of his head,What can I get you?
“Two seltzers with lime,” Wren said. “And a microphone.”
“Karaoke doesn’t start until six,” he reminded them.
“Buddy, I plan to be in my pajamas by then. Can’t you make an exception?” She pushed her belly out for emphasis, as if it wasn’t already obviously protruding enough.
The bartender smirked and nodded. He was way cooler than the skydiving guy.
“Wren,” Charlie said, a reminder that she was still waiting on an answer:What are we doing here?
“Because I have not only diagnosed our problem; I have prescribed the solution: We need a little of the good old days,” Wren said simply.
“The good old days…”
“When things weren’t so complicated, and life wasn’t always getting in the way.”
The bartender returned with drinks and two microphones, flicking a few switches and powering on the karaoke setup at the front of the bar.
“So whadya say?” Wren asked, taking hold of one of the mics and offering it to Charlie.
