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Since elementary school, Audrey wanted to be a mom. She had baby dolls all over the place for years. Her doll phase ended, and in high school, she dated the most popular jock, thinking they’d get married and have babies. She wanted the nuclear family we never had. Her jock ran off to another college, and she serial-dated all sorts of assholes.

None of them ever stayed or seemed to want the things she did. Recently she decided that she did not need a man to be a mother. She only needed a sperm bank, money, and a good doctor. So now she’s having a baby, on her own, and moving on with her life. I wonder if she has noticed I am not. I am stuck exactly where I have been for ten years.

I had delusions of love and family once upon a time, and then reality kicked me in the head. Now, I have a billion-dollar company, insomnia, and a people allergy that no amount of Benadryl could fix. I dial Audrey’s number again, and it rings straight off to voice mail. How long can the fanny-doctor possibly take? I check my watch, and see my messages are still unread.

Maybe she left her phone in the car, or at home—she’s been a bit scatter-brained since she fell pregnant. I log in to my computer, look at the schedule of the day and cancel the first two meetings. I’d rather not look like a fool. I’m unprepared without the information, and I hate being shown up. It can all wait. None of these buyers will get what they want from me anywhere else.

I am dying for coffee, but there’s no milk, and the taste of creamer makes me gag. I order a delivery from Starbucks, and pace up and down, watching the time tick past. The low lighting and white noise in my office keeps me focused when I need it, but it is a bit suffocating this morning. The sense of dread over what my days will look like with her gone is looming closer.

Luna isn’t the answer. Maybe it is time to look for a more professional solution to organizing my life. I can create code and run a giant corporation, but I can’t book a dentist appointment or remember to fetch my dry cleaning? Talk about executive dysfunction. I selectively hyper-focus my attention on what I am good at and everything else is just background noise.

The delivery bike brings me coffee, and the caffeine takes the edge off my racing thoughts just enough that I can sit down and focus on the reports I should be doing this morning. I still obsessively check the clock and my phone for a reply from Audrey. But she still hasn’t read my messages and her status shows she’s offline.

I’m sucked into a brainstorming session with some of our brightest developers that are working on my newest idea. The elite group have all signed NDAs and are about as allergic to other humans as I am––all brains, no personality. We problem solve, and bounce ideas off one another for hours without even realizing how much time has passed.

It’s only when one of them says he needs to log off or he’ll miss his train home that I see that it is after five. Shit. The day is gone, and I realize my sister still hasn’t replied or come to work. I wonder if I should be worried, or just mad?

I decide to worry. She has done this once or twice before and is probably trying to teach me a lesson for bailing on the baby shopping. I use the ‘find-my-phone’ thingy to see where she is. Maybe something is wrong. It shows up a little red dot at her new house a few miles away, and I swap worry for mad. She could have just answered and told me she needed a day off. Fuck-it.

I scour through the ready-made meals she has specially ordered for me and put one in the microwave for my dinner. It’s hot as all mighty hell tonight, and after I eat the planned healthy meal, I decide to take some of my frustrations out by swimming laps. At least the pool will cool my body down if it does nothing to help my temper.

FOUR

LUNA

“I am not an engineer. Who makes these things so complicated?” I am moaning while completely failing at assembling a baby swing. It is like rocket science and the instructions seem to be in German. Google translate is very literal, so not much help either. Audrey is sitting in the brand new ‘glider’ chair, laughing at my struggles. “It would help if you had tools, not just one random screwdriver.” I wave the inadequate single tool at her. “It says Allen key, not screwdriver with bent tip.”

“I never needed tools before,” she says. “I lived with Spencer, not that he had any either. Handy isn’t his thing.” I can’t imagine him with a screwdriver in his hand, no. “Should we order some?” Order tools? She has baby brain for sure.

“At eleven at night? Where are we going to get tools delivered now?” I reality-check her.

“Maybe my neighbors have some,” she suggests. That might do. It’s not really that sort of neighborhood, though. It’s a get-someone-to-do-it area of town.

“Do you know your neighbors? You just moved in.” If they do have tools, it will make life way easier. This swing is like one of those mind-bender brain puzzles.

“No, I do not. One looks like he might be a member of the Chippendales,” I pause and look up at her.

“Go ask that one. Maybe you can get a daddy for that baby.” I wiggle my eyebrows and my best friend laughs at me. “He just has to look hot and be good in bed. You have everything else figured out on your own.” She has zero need for a man in her life, and even less desire to have to put up with their shit than I do. Single life suits Audrey. She’s been on her own long enough that sharing her space and life would probably not be easy.

“I am going to go ask him, because if I don’t, my kid will be twenty-one before you finish that swing.” Audrey gets up out of the chair with all the grace of an ostrich. “I’ll be right back.” She waddles away in search of tools, leaves me with the half-finished swing, and a room full of other baby stuff that requires ‘some assembly’.

She’s lucky I love her and that baby in her belly so much. I dig myself out of the pile surrounding me on the floor so I can go pee and find some leftovers. Audrey is taking ages. She is probably chatting up her neighbor or they called security on her. I smile to myself while heating up the leftover lunch I brought back with me.

I pour a glass of wine. That’s one thing I won’t give up just because my bestie can’t drink—she can have soda pop and water alone. I like my cool glass of crisp white when it’s hot as Hades in the desert. The microwave beeps and Audrey’s work phone vibrates on the counter where she’d dumped it with her keys when we got here. Spencer can be ridiculous with his calls and texts so late. I am glad she silenced it and ignored him, not everyone is awake all night. The guy lives in a whole other world––a rich man’s world, where he can’t process how things are for anyone else.

“Luna,” Audrey calls from outside the glass doors that lead to her patio. “I think we might have a situation.” She is banging on the shut door, and I go over to let her in.

“What, your hot neighbor only has one tool and it’s in his G-string?” I chuckle, sliding the door open for her.

“Uh, that…yes. And my water just broke on the walk back here.” I look at the giant wet spot on her emerald, green dress. Shit. Jesus, no, it’s not supposed to be now! “It’s time to drive really fast to the hospital.”

“Water birth, here in peace. That is the birth plan!” I don’t like hospitals, and drugs and all the interventions. Audrey has a natural birth plan. The pool is even here. I just need to put it up. Hospital, really? “Can you wait for me to set up?”

“My baby doesn’t give a shit about my plans, and I really don’t fucking think I can wait.” She screams through a contraction. This is not how it was supposed to go. “Get my keys and drive fast.” I grab the keys from beside the microwave. We didn’t have a bag packed. This was not the plan. We’re going with nothing, I guess. “Luna, I love you. But I swear to fucking God, if you do not let them give me all of the drugs, I will kill you. This hurts like a motherfucker.” Her potty mouth is cranked up to ten as she climbs in the passenger seat, threatening me between curse words.

“Let’s see how you feel when we get there.” I try calming her down and diverting her from the drugs.

“I feel like my coochie is being ripped in half by the human trying to escape my body, I want the drugs, Luna!” She snarls at me, and I am afraid she may eat me if I get in the way of what she wants. “I am not giving birth in my car, so put your foot down please,” she says as I pull out of the gated community where she lives.

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