“Morning breath is a completely natural biological process, whereby saliva breaks down small food particles, which combined with dry mouth creates an unpleasant odor,” she said in a nasal voice.
“Is that supposed to be what I would say? I don’t sound like that. I’m not a…wordy scientist.”
“What I’m trying to say,” she said in her normal tone, “is give me one more. But no tongue.”
He did as he was told.
“Now, are you ready for the jar?” she repeated.
He nodded. “On your nightstand. Behind the world’s largest water bottle.”
She’d recently bought herself one of those impossibly tall water bottles with lines marking how much she should drink by different points in the day. Drink half by noon, three quarters by dinner…He loved to see her well hydrated, but the damn thing never fit into any of their cupholders, and it was so imposing that Ferdie was legitimately frightened of it.
Sure enough, the jar was hiding behind the monstrosity.
“Only one left,” Wren said, rattling it around in her hands. “No pressure or anything.”
She was right. There was one lone slip of paper, folded awkwardly in not quite half, lying limply on the bottom of the glass jar. How had they gotten through so much of their lists? Where had this pregnancy gone? By in a flash was where.
Arthur reached his hand in, pulled it out, and looked.
“It’s…blank.”
“What? Let me see.”
He handed it over. She stared at it in disbelief.
“Must be a leftover clipping from when you cut up the lists,” Arthur said.
“But that can’t be it,” she said. “There was more. I know there was more.”
“Like what?”
“I can’t remember,” she said, rubbing her temples. “My brain is completely giving out on me.”
Arthur felt more than a little guilty about taking things out of the jar without telling her, but not just because of the disappointment on her face. He was beginning to feel like he’d robbed himself of a chance to really grow and challenge who he thought he was. But it was too late to go back now, to admit to rigging the game, to fly to Hawaii and book a little swim with hammerheads. It was time for this to be over.
But Wren, for her part, looked like she was about to cry. This was not the triumphant moment he had imagined when they’d started on this journey. No bugles and confetti and drop-down banners.Anticlimacticwas the word.
“It can’t end like that,” she said defiantly.
“Why not? Don’t you feel ready? I think I feel ready.”
“I do. But I wanted to finish something. For once. Any chance you’d reconsider going skydiving? Like right now, today?”
He laughed. “You know I can’t do that.”
Arthur had come a long way, faced his fears (of both clowns and failure), and grown immensely as a person. But he was still him, and he was not the kind of person who jumped out of perfectly good planes. He would have done almost anything else in the entire world. It didn’t seem fair that Wren’s biggest dream just so happened to be his biggest fear.
“Not even for me? I think it would be sexy and heroic. Plus, the symbolism would be amazing. Just think, diving headfirst into the great unknown adventure that is the rest of our lives together. Whadya say?” He was unmoved. “Please?”
Her watery eyes looked up at him like some kind of cartoon puppy, impossibly large and quivering. Somehow, Ferdie had gotten the memo that it was time to do the eyes, becausehe was sitting on the floor staring at Arthur, giving his best attempt behind his furry eyebrows, even placing a pathetic little paw on Arthur’s foot for good measure.
“You know what?” Arthur said, eager to get all these doe eyes off of him. “I have a better idea.”
They walked into the Mad Cow Creamery, and the chilly, vanilla-scented air welcomed them with a blisteringly cold hug.
“Do they have to keep it so goddamn cold in here?” Arthur said, immediately regretting his choice of T-shirt instead of long sleeves.
