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She’d laughed aloud at his audacity, a brat to his core but an adorable one.
It was hard to feel invisible and disconnected anymore because sheexistedto someone now. He texted her throughout the days, over the next week, random little bits of humor and conversation she’d previously been lacking, and she had begun to live for the moment her phone would buzz, deflating slightly if it were Drea, or their friend Ava, a baker in town, or her mother.
He asked about her business, her family, about her travel aspirations. He told her stories from his time overseas, tales of his childhood, all involving elaborate hijinks of which he always seemed to be at the center, despite claiming no culpability in the mischief, and confessed that he didn’t know what he would do next, he wasn’t able to return to work in the same capacity, and that his current plan of living off his wealthy brother was being hampered by said brother’s girlfriend.
The conversation came up the night they met for dinner. He suggested Greenbridge Glen, as it was mostly nonhuman, and thus its businesses were open. As she stood in front of her closet that night, contemplating what she ought to wear, Moriah couldn’t help but feel as if she were suspended in some liminal space, not truly existing fully anywhere.
She felt removed from her neighbors in Cambric Creek. Sorben had been such a curmudgeonly introvert that they had never really participated in the community-wide events. They didn’t attend the festivals and the street fairs, as he disliked the crowds, and she had never taken any classes at the community center. He had decided CSA farm pickup was inconvenient, and she had never wanted to attend the Saturday Maker’s Mart alone. It wasn’t until she met Drea that she realized she didn’t have many friends in town, at least not outside their development. She’d endeavored in recent years to change that, but still — it was a delayed effort.
She didn’t feel as though she belonged amongst the community in Cambric Creek, and since the pandemic had started, Moriah realized how removed she was from the human world as well. She’d not lived in a human majority town in nearly a decade. Her parents were far away, and she had no reason to venture into Bridgeton very often. The pandemic was passing her by, the entire global community of humans huddled together at this terrible time, but she was largely unaffected, content to not leave her house and to stay amongst the nonhuman population of her neighbors, amongst whom she was similarly removed.
One of the things she found so attractive about her exuberant conception partner was that he was similarly displaced and friendless, not fitting in with his family, not fitting in with his community, and not fitting in anywhere, according to him.He fits in perfectly with you.
“So, can I ask you a question? I apologize in advance if it’s insensitive, but I just . . . I’m just having a hard time understanding why . . .”
He had been dancing around the question that he wanted to ask all night, and she knew what that was without him needing to voice it.
“Why am I doing this?”
His neck flushed, and he ducked ahead.
“It’s something I wanted for so long,” she murmured. “I got married too young. I know that now. I needed to live more. I needed to experience more of the world on my own. I might not have even said yes to my husband if I’d had a little bit more time to live.”
The clinic would’ve been a goddess gift when she and Sorben were still together. A way to have the baby she wanted within her marriage, even if he would have needed to come to terms with the methodology. Now though, she wasn’t quite sure. Moriah didn’t know how to admit that aloud, least of all to herself. She had wanted this one thing for so long, and tonotpursue this opportunity . . . she couldn’t reconcile having changed her mind without feeling foolish for all the time wasted. The time and money at the fertility clinic in Bridgeton, the health of her marriage, all of the tears she had cried over the years. And what was worse, she didn’t know if shehadchanged her mind, only that she was confused over what she was meant to want.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to upset you; I’m probably being such a rude asshole right now,” he had fretted. “I guess I’m not sure why you’ve chosen this method instead of . . . you know.”
“Finding a partner,” she supplied for him, swallowing hard. She’d been swept up in Drea’s excitement, she admitted herself. She had wanted a baby for years, and so had Drea; that was the common fabric of their friendship, and now here was a method of getting one, and she didn’t know how to walk away from such an opportunity.
“I mean,” he laughed awkwardly, “raising a werewolf on your own is going to be a wild adventure. If-if that’s what you’re planning on doing. I just hope they’re giving you classes or something.”
She blinked at him, uncomprehending for several long moments.
“Oh, I-I won’t be? That’s not the way this works. I’m sorry, I guess I didn’t realize that you weren’t brought up to speed the same way.”
Lowell’s dark eyebrows drew together in confusion, and she’d haltingly explained the process. In utero suppression. It was safe to administer; she had been assured that numerous times, and she would be under the clinic’s care the entire time. Once the baby was born, they would come in for monthly shots, the same as she had, no different than a typical booster.
“And that’s that,” Dr. Ulric had explained with a smile. “In utero suppression and then a continuation into early childhood ensures that the first change in puberty never occurs. Your child, for all intents and purposes, will be human, just like you.”
It was Lowell’s turn to blink, long and slow, and she’d squirmed.
“They-they won’t be a werewolf? I don’t think I understand. How does that work?”
The restaurant he’d suggested was quiet and dark, giving their conversation an air of private seclusion, which she appreciated.
“Well, they start administering suppressants? In utero. I’ll be receiving shots directly into the umbilical cord.”
Across the table, Lowell recoiled.
“That sounds really painful,” he said skeptically, pulling a face.
“Yeah, I-I think it is. My friend, the one who’s pregnant? From the clinic? She’s going to be starting her first round of shots next week. It’s too dangerous to start before the middle of the second trimester, but once they deem the baby is progressing well enough, they start monthly shots. Same as I get the monthly shots to stimulate the heat. And then, after the baby is born, we continue the monthly shots at the clinic until they’re a few years old. And that does it.”
She didn’t like the look on his face. He looked vaguely horrified, whether with the procedure or with her, she wasn’t sure.
“Both of your parents are werewolves?” she asked tentatively when he didn’t say anything right away. “I know you said your mom, but I wasn’t sure —”
“Oh yeah. My dad is most definitely a werewolf. There’s no denying that.” He chuckled tonelessly, his eyes suddenly a million miles away from her.
