“Hello?” I say groggily.
“Oh, thank God,” she sighs in relief. “Where the hell are you? You’ve been gone all night, and I just saw that your car isn’t in the driveway and I panicked. Are you okay? What’s going on?”
“I’m fine Ellie Bellie,” I yawn. “I’m at home with Dad and Nate. I couldn’t stand another night being alone in that house. I was going to implode.”
“Oh, my sweet ginger angel,” she says, her tone mixed with both exasperation and sadness. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea you were struggling with that. But can you call me next time so I don’t have a heart attack?”
“I promise,” I say, eyes only half open. “Can I go back to sleep now?”
“Yes, I’m sorry I woke you,” she apologizes. “But can we talk more about this tomorrow? I hate that you’ve been carrying that alone.”
“Okay,” I mumble. “I’ll come over tomorrow.”
“Okay, I love you.”
“I love you, too. Goodnight.”
I’m asleep again before the call ends.
The next morning, after gorging myself on pancakes, I hug my dad and brother goodbye before heading over to the Hart household.
“Knock knock,” I yell, letting myself in. “You know, you really ought to lock your door.”
“It’s Larkspur, what’s the worst that could happen?” Griffin asks, coming up the stairs from the basement and squeezing my shoulders in a side hug. “C’mon, we’re all downstairs.”
“Who is ‘we’?”
“Who do you think? Ellie, Jack, David, me, and now you.”
“Oh brother,” I mutter, following him down the stairs.
“Took you long enough,” David huffs, immediately moving from his spot on the floor to sit next to me on the couch. “How’s my new best friend doing in there? Are you taking good care of fetus?” he asks directly to my stomach.
“Would you quit it,” I say, shoving him away. “I hate when you talk to my stomach. And stop calling Little One ‘fetus’, call them a baby like a normal person.”
“I read online that it’s a fetus until it’s earthside, then it’s a newborn,” he says matter-of-factly. “So I will continue calling fetus ‘fetus’ until then.”
“Or until she smacks you hard enough that you forget the word fetus,” Jack warns. “Which is increasingly likely the more you open that trap of yours.” David jumps up, putting space between us before I can land a blow (not that I was planning to).
“Now, for the reason we’re all gathered here,” Ellie announces, placing an easel with a giant notepad in front of the TV.
“Is this an intervention?” I joke.
“No,” she says patiently. “It’s a staff meeting. And today, we’re going over the schedule.”
She flips the paper over, revealing a meticulously color-coded calendar.
“What…is that?” Griffin asks warily.
“This is the schedule for next month,” she says simply, as if everyone should already understand exactly what she’s talking about.
“Schedule for what?” I ask.
“I’m calling it Abby Duty. Or Abby Watch. Or the Sleepover Schedule. I haven’t quite landed on a name yet.”
“I beg your finest pardon,” David interrupts. “But what in the holy hell are you talking about?”
“Holy hell is an oxymoron,” Ellie counters. “Aren’t you Catholic? Shouldn’t you know that?”
