“Is he…is he alive?” Wren yelped.
“Oh my God, is he possessed?” Charlie asked simultaneously, then: “I like yours better.”
Wren scrambled over to Ferdie’s side and gave him one more shake, and she didn’t know what it was, maybe all the excitement or the new smells from Charlie, but Ferdie’s eyes finally flew open at that moment, and a few seconds later he was propped up on his elbows looking around, blinking. The relief that flooded Wren’s heart nearly made her collapse. Tears came once again.
Ferdie, meanwhile, looked around with the bleary eyes of someone who’d just awoken from an epic, Rip Van Winkle–level slumber. Wren was certain he had been approximately 87 percent of the way to the afterlife.
“My sleepy boy,” Wren said, hugging him and stroking his fur. “You scared me to death.”
Charlie suddenly appeared with Ferdie’s food and water dishes and set them down gently on the floor.
“So he was just in a fart coma?” Charlie said.
It made sense to Wren. Ferdie had been sleeping longer and longer, getting gassier and gassier. It was only a matter of time before it all crescendoed.
Wren grabbed a piece of the dry kibble in her fingers and offered it to him. He ate it casually, then hopped gingerly off the bed and began lapping water as if he hadn’t just returned from the beyond.
Wren could take no more. She collapsed on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Soon she felt Charlie lie next to her, their heads just touching.
“Should we take him to the vet?” Charlie asked.
Wren turned and looked at Ferdie. He was snuggling up togo back to sleep already, this time on his doggie bed in the corner. Being his exact, usual self. “No, look at him. He’s completely fine. He’s not the one who’s broken, it’s me.”
“Wren…”
“I thought my dog was dead for half a day and he was just sleeping.”
“Fart coma,” Charlie corrected.
Wren couldn’t even laugh. “My maternal instincts are nonexistent.”
Charlie grabbed her hand then. “You thought he was dead and somehow he survived,” she said, almost matter-of-fact. “Don’t get me wrong, your instincts are a total mess. But you obviously gave him something to live for.”
“You think?” Wren asked. “Maybe you’re right, but I definitely can’t be trusted with a human baby. I don’t know who ever thought that was a good idea.”
Ferdie was one thing. She’d known from the beginning that he had one foot in the grave. It was just a matter of time. Certainly, that played a role in her actions. But she couldn’t help but worry about what it would be like when the baby came. Would she be too casual and cavalier about every cough? Too slow to act if, God forbid, there was a middle-of-the-night choking incident? And what if the baby had special needs? Would she be equipped for that? In this test, at least, she had failed miserably.
Charlie was silent for a moment as she considered how best to proceed. “Well, I would say Arthur did. He thinks the world of you, always has…” Then: “Do you want to talk about it?”
“What does it matter?” Arthur. The last thing she wanted to worry about right now. “He doesn’t want to be with me, or more accurately, with someonelikeme. It’s abundantly clearnow that he would be better off settling down with someone more serious, who wants the same things as him. We had our fun and maybe we’ve run our course.” Maybe Arthur would be better off with Chipmunk, who was probably gorgeous and outdoorsy and the kind of person who monitored her credit score.
“Yeah, you had so much fun you cooked up a baby. Do you hear yourself?”
Wren grunted. Charlie wasn’t going to let up, so she had to give her something.
“I’ll call him later, OK? But I’m telling you, we’re not built to last.” She hated that Charlie was making her talk about this, but she had to admit the deep, black melancholy was starting to wear off now that Ferdie was alive again. “When we get married, and then divorced a few years later, I’m gonna rub it in your face so hard.”
“That’ll show me,” Charlie said. “Now, how about a walk? We can see how Ferdie does.”
Wren agreed, and then she peeled herself off the bed and leashed up her boy, almost giddy to be doing something as simple as this, something just minutes ago she had thought she’d never do again.
They put on Ford the River and blasted it as they walked. Power chords and distortion and heavy drums backed lyrics about not fitting in, raging against society, and stealing girls from jocks. They moved at a glacial pace with Ferdie, which made for a comical contrast.
“It’s probably for the best that we’re missing the show. I don’t know if I’m prepared to see a bunch of fat, bald, middle-aged men singing this stuff,” Charlie said. “I love the songs, don’t get me wrong, but I feel like they should have moved on by now.”
“Why? They probably realized that they were never happier than when they were ripping onstage with their brothers.”
“Isn’t that sad?”
