And, indeed, she was. Laura wrapped Wren in the warmest, gooiest hug she’d felt in forever. It was like being smothered in half-baked cookie dough. A weighted blanket of pure maternal energy and comfort washed over her, and she felt sosafe there in that woman’s over-perfumed bosom that she briefly considered staying forever.
“I’m just still in shock,” Arthur said. “I can’t believe you guys are here.”
“It’s long overdue,” Arthur’s dad said. “Sorry we missed the party, by the way. Traffic in the city was a nightmare; that didn’t help. Now, come on, let’s not waste any more time, show us around like it’s all new to us.”
Wren briefly wondered if Neal Peterson was being nice and showing an interest, or if he had genuinely forgotten what his son’s apartment looked like.
“Well, you’re basically looking at it,” Wren said, scanning the living room, which, to be fair, made up about 74 percent of the apartment. “Is it big? No. Is it cozy? Also no. But we don’t mind it for now.”
“Square footage?” Neal asked.
“Dad,” Arthur groaned. “I can’t remember exactly, not off the top of my head.”
“Was never very good with numbers, this one,” Neal said, jabbing a teasing thumb in Arthur’s direction for Wren’s benefit. “He had every Shel Silverstein poem memorized as a kid, but I’d send him off to get one measurement and he’d forget by the time he came back to tell me. Every time.” He reached out and playfully rubbed Arthur’s shoulder.
Wren laughed.
“Well, it worked out OK. I’m an English teacher, after all, and a pretty good one at that.”
Wren’s laugh quickly died out. Her eyes flitted back and forth between the two men, who were both smiling stiffly, as if in competition to see who had the thicker skin. It was always like this with Arthur and his dad. Friendly at first, then a bit prickly, nobody daring to break the tension and actuallysay what they were really thinking. Personally, Wren didn’t really get it. Neal was a little old-fashioned, a little rough around the edges at times. But he was here, warts and all, and Arthur didn’t seem to realize how lucky that made him.
“Can we see the nursery?” Arthur’s mom asked, slicing the tension.
“Well, funny thing,” Wren said, guiding everyone single file down the very brief hallway from the living room to the bedroom, looking back over her shoulder once or twice as if they might get lost on the long journey. “It’s a one-bedroom. So this is it.”
Wren didn’t love Arthur’s parents standing there, staring at their bedroom, scanning and judging. It didn’t look anything like a nursery, save for a small white high chair assembled and stuffed into the corner, and a messy pile of blankets and extremely plain infant clothes on the floor waiting to be put away properly. Arthur had picked most of it out, and it showed.
No one said anything for a beat. A long beat. A significant amount of time passed. The longer this went on, the worse Wren began to feel. Their bedroom, which she ordinarily found quite comfortable, began to look like a prison. Sparse. It was far from homey, with very little on the walls and not much furniture beyond the bed and nightstands. It looked…temporary. Functional, at best. Spartan, at worst.
Truthfully, that had been the idea. Intentional. She wasn’t going to be like every other mom with their murals of forest animals and soothing pastel colors. She wasn’t going to fundamentally change the way she lived, or who she was, and shelikedthat their apartment looked like they could just pick up and disappear at a moment’s notice.
Only, having it all on display for Arthur’s parents was suddenly making her feel painfully self-conscious about thewhole thing. What the hell was wrong with her that she was feeling so casual and detached? Why couldn’t she just be like everybody else?
Then Neal spoke.
“What’s that noise? Sounds like dripping.” He mimicked it by popping his lips three times. “Anyone else hear that?” And then he ducked out to investigate. Arthur shrugged at Wren and followed.
“Well, I think it’s smart that you don’t want to commit to any design choices you might regret later,” Arthur’s mom said finally, having fully taken in the space. “You know, especially once you find out the sex.”
Arthur and Wren had decided to keep it a surprise until the big day. Even they didn’t know. Arthur had been adamant that they find out as soon as possible, but it was an argument Wren won easily. Being the one actually growing the damn kid was pretty much the ultimate trump card. And where was the fun in knowing everything?
“Yeah,” Wren said, trying to sound optimistic. “I mean I read that the baby really only needs a little bassinet for a while, like a few months at least. And I think they’re blind for the first couple of weeks, right? Or is that kittens? Anyway, we have some time to zhuzh it up.”
“I’m sorry.” Laura laughed. “I don’t mean to sound judgy. I try so hard not to that sometimes I end up putting my foot in my mouth.”
“No, not at all,” Wren said, even though this was definitely true.
“Tell me about the shower. It must have been fun celebrating with all your friends.”
The ones she couldn’t get to leave fast enough? And Charlie, whom she wanted to stay, but wouldn’t? Yeah, totally.
“It was.”
“Were either of your brothers able to make it? I know it was mixed gender so I was hoping. So modern, by the way. Love that.”
Wren suddenly realized that Laura was affectionately playing with her hair, running her fingers through, giving just the tiniest bit of scalp massage. It was heaven. It was all Wren could do not to start purring like a cat.
“No, sadly. They couldn’t come.”
