Before long, Arthur’s parents arrived, bearing balloons and flowers, puncturing the peace and quiet in the room in a way only grandparents can.
“We came as soon as we could,” Laura said. “How are you guys holding up?”
Neal went right for the baby. “Can I pick him up?” Arthur nodded.
Laura walked straight past them and told Wren to scooch over in the bed. She did. Arthur’s mom wedged in beside her and put her arm around Wren, stroked her hair. Wren leaned her head on Laura’s shoulder. It occurred to her that she would be allowed to call LauraMomsoon. Weirdly, it didn’t seem weird at all.
“What can we do to help?” Arthur’s dad asked. “Don’t be shy. Anything at all.”
Wren and Arthur looked at each other; she gave him a nod of approval.
“Well, Wren and I were talking,” Arthur said. “There is one thing that we might need.”
“Name it,” Arthur’s mom said.
Wren wondered if Arthur was going to chicken out. She knew how much he hated asking for help, and when he was forced to, how embarrassed he’d always feel. She watched his face for the telltale red cheeks and averted gaze. This time, she couldn’t find them.
“How would you guys feel about taking our car and driving it back to your place?” he said.
His dad looked puzzled. “OK…And what about the Airstream?”
Wren stepped in. “Is it as comfy as it looks?”
Roughly twenty-four hours later, they were discharged. Sent out into the world with this fragile, squishy little thing swaddled up in a blanket and told, more or less,Good luck!
“That’s it?” Wren had said in the parking lot as a hospital orderly practically yanked her wheelchair out from under her. “This feels illegal.”
One time she’d gone to urgent care for a cut and left with seven pages of painstaking instructions on wound care. But apparently having a baby required no such documentation.
“We’ll see the pediatrician tomorrow,” Arthur said. “We can ask her our questions. We just need to survive tonight.”
They arrived home and Arthur opened the door.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Why do I feel like I’m carrying a bride over the threshold? Wow, this feels like a big deal.”
She took a step into their apartment’s foyer and immediately felt like sobbing, in the happiest way she could ever recall. She could barely choke out the words:
“Welcome home, buddy.”
They’d barely made it through the doorway when a small figure came running—Ferdie. Running. Geriatrically, yes, but running just the same. Wren could barely believe her eyes. The little guy ran right up to Arthur and just about jumped into his arms. Arthur scooped him up and squeezed him tight, receiving a lick directly to the face for his efforts.
“Ferdie, what the shit is this?” Wren said. “Betrayal. And you.” She was looking at Arthur now, smiling like an idiot as Ferdie cleaned every bit of hospital off his cheek and ears.
“What can I say? I guess the little guy did grow on me after all.”
“Arthur, don’t lie,” she said. “You loved him from the very beginning. Now, come on. We’re home.”
She grabbed his hand and the four of them walked into the living room together, their very first moments as a family together, where they were met with—
“WELCOME HOME!”
The noise startled them. Wren felt Arthur’s arm shoot out in front of her, push her back as he leapt in front, ready to kick an intruder in the crotch. All instinct.
It was Charlie and Tristan. They were there in their living room, jumping up and down like maniacs.
“Jesus. You scared us,” Arthur said.
