She sighed and stuck out a hand, and Arthur hoisted her up from her comfortable spot on the sofa. They both grabbed a loose corner of the wrapping paper.
“One…two…two and a half…” Arthur counted down, trying to get her to join in.
“Oops,” Wren said, ripping the paper on her side clean off.
“Wow. No showmanship at all, but OK.” Then Arthur got a sliver of a look at what was inside, and his face lit up. He excitedly ripped the rest of the package open.
“You promised me something exciting,” Wren said.
“This is the Graco Lock-tite 4000 XL,” Arthur said. “Only the most cutting-edge car seat on the market. It’s ridiculously safe. Someone on the internet said if you get in an accident, it’s more likely to kill the person that hit you than leave a single scratch on your baby. Indestructible. We’re talking airplane black box material. What could be more exciting than that?”
“Oh, you poor sheltered boy.”
“Scoff all you want, I’m stoked. We could never have afforded this on our own.”
“Who’s it from?” Wren tried to bend down to find the tag and found she couldn’t. Couldn’t bend down, that is.
“It didn’t say,” Arthur said, still marveling. Then he took out his keys and sliced open the top of the box. “Just want to get a look at it.”
“So this marvelous piece of safety technology, you’re gonna install it?”
“Yeah, who else?”
Wren cackled.
“Why’s that funny?” Arthur said, picking out the instruction manual from the box, or rather hoisting it out. Holding the thick, three-hundred-page tome caused a noticeable tension in his forearm muscles.
Wren shot him a look, which he instantly understood. “Yeah, I better see if we can find someone to do it.”
She stepped over the carcasses of opened presents and kissed him on the cheek. “Smart boy.” Again, loved the guy, but she couldn’t help but think back to when they first moved in and were assembling furniture. She said they needed a screwdriver and Arthur replied that they were out of orange juice. Of course, they were practically babies back then, but he hadn’t changed much.
Then, a knock at the door.
“Sit down, take a load off,” Arthur said. “I’ll get it.”
“If that’s a pizza that you secretly ordered, I’m gonna sex you so hard.”
She’d not really hit the mythical horny phase of pregnancy everyone talked about, but a thick-crust extra cheese might just do it. Wren flopped on the sofa—getting hungry now—just in time to hear Arthur open the door and two voices she recognized yell out:
“SURPRISE!!”
So. No pizza, then.
Arthur’s parents, Neal and Laura Peterson, were standing in the living room for the first time in years. They were immaculately dressed in polos and shorts, looking like a silver-haired couple plucked right out of an erectile dysfunction commercial.
“How about a tour?” Neal boomed, clapping his hands together loudly as required by Dad Law.
“It’s the same place it’s always been,” Arthur said.
“I know that, knucklehead. We want to see what you’ve done with the place.”
Wren could see Arthur’s cheeks grow just the faintest bit rosy. What they’d done with the place in the five or six years since his parents visited was exactly nothing. Hung a Goodwill painting of a vase of flowers. Bought new pillowcases once or twice. But it was an apartment—what were they going to do, add on a deck?
“Wait!” his mother cried out. “Before we start…just one more hug? It’s been too long.”
Arthur smiled sheepishly and reluctantly stretched his arms out, but Wren cut him off.
“Pretty sure she was talking to me there, buddy boy. Go get your own hug.”
