Before he could pull his hand away and sit up, the kick came, powerful and crystal clear. The baby, whoever they were, or were going to be, approved.
15
Wren pulled up at thecurb, bumping it slightly and really hoping Arthur wouldn’t notice the scuff. She was outside Charlie’s building, a high-rise condominium with stunning views of the harbor and city skyline. The whole street was posh and beautifully well-kept. Immaculately trimmed trees lined the sidewalk like watchful little soldiers. Dirty street pigeons were nowhere to be found, but beautiful doves seemed to be everywhere, as if someone were manually replacing one for the other 24/7 to maintain the aesthetics of the area. A trash can on the corner was disguised as a bush.
But the plan was not to go up and knock on the door, beg her friend to forgive her. The plan was to lure Charlie down.
It started with a phone call.
“Yes?” Charlie answered tersely.
“Thanks for picking up.”
“What do you want? Very busy up here.”
“Doing what?”
“Stewing, mostly. Also brooding and ruminating. I’ve got my hands full, clearly, so if you’ve got something to say, let’s get on with it.”
It stung Wren to hear her friend so angry at her. Their relationship had always been full of playful banter, teasing, and even bickering like an old married couple. But a full-on fight was a rarity for them.
“I’m outside your place, but I have something for you. A token of my apologies. Can you come down? I can’t carry it up on my own.” Wren feigned a pregnant, back-aching groan. Whatever it took to play on Charlie’s sympathies.
Charlie huffed, sounding offended that Wren could even think to buy her off with a simple gift. But her curiosity got the better of her. “What is it?” she asked, failing miserably to disguise the hope and excitement in her voice.
“Come down and see.”
Then Wren hung up. With the bait set, there was nothing more to say, and she knew Charlie wouldn’t be able to resist. Sure enough, her friend soon appeared on the sidewalk, dressed casually in leggings and a tank top. Tristan was with her. That was also part of the plan and had been prearranged.
Charlie opened the passenger door. “This better be good. Our elevator is out so I try to limit my visits to the ground floor.”
“Hi, Wren,” Tristan waved from behind his fiancée, not even pretending to be angry on her behalf. “Heard you might need my brute strength.” He jiggled his pecs through his shirt. He could do that. While Charlie scanned the interior of the car for the so-called present, Wren threw Tristan a wink, which he returned.
“I got you your favorite,” Wren said, revealing a white cardboard box filled with fresh-baked cookies, whoopie pies, and glistening sticky buns.
Charlie tried to remain stoic, not showing her excitement.“Are those”—she couldn’t help but lick her lips to prevent visible drool—“from the Pennsylvania Dutch Market?”
“The one and only.” Wren grinned. It wasn’t too far from Arthur and Wren’s place, despite the name, and it was always well worth the trip. “Why don’t you grab one?”
Charlie eyeballed them, looked around as if this were some kind of illicit transaction, and took a hesitant step closer.
“That’s it, come on. Just reach in and take whatever you’d like. Atta girl,” Wren said, holding the box out a little, just out of reach of Charlie’s fingertips.
“Is that a…red velvet whoopie pie?”
“You mean this, right here?” Wren picked it up, held it out, agonizingly close to Charlie, who was now bending down through the passenger doorway, reaching, ready to grab it. With her free hand, she made sure to angle her air conditioning vent Charlie’s way, wafting the fresh bakery scent in that direction. With one more forward lean, Charlie’s fingers grasped the dessert, and at that, Wren shouted, “Now!” On cue, Tristan gave Charlie the lightest of shoves from behind, sending her tumbling into the car, and he slammed the door behind her. In an instant, Wren peeled off, trapping her friend inside.
“Are you out of your mind?! You’re kidnapping me?!” Charlie righted herself in the seat and, one hand occupied by the pastry, buckled herself in as Wren sliced through traffic.
“I needed to make sure you’d talk to me and really hear me out.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t deserve it. Where the hell were you yesterday?”
“I know. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to help with the cake.” Then, tentatively: “How did it go?” Wren never really understood big, lavish weddings, but she knew enough to knowthat little things going wrong could pile up and become massively stressful for brides like Charlie. And she knew how important the cake was. It was the final event of the night, the grand finale, and a centerpiece of a lot of the best photos. Charlie, she was certain, cared desperately about the photos.
“The cake is whatever; I don’t care about the cake.”
“Then why are you so pissed?”
