by Lauren Rowe
I chuckle and put the microphone to my lips again. “Thank you, dear.”
Everyone laughs.
“First off, I’d like to say my first ever toast to Mrs. Katherine Faraday. You rock my world, baby. My greatest joy in this life is the honor and privilege of calling you my wife.”
Kat blushes and bats her eyelashes.
“To you, babe. The Party Girl with the Heart of Gold.”
Everyone in the room toasts and drinks.
“Oh!” Kat suddenly blurts, her hand on her belly. “Wowza. That was a biggie!”
I lurch toward Kat and she grabs my hand and places it on the side of her belly, and, instantly, I feel someone throwing an upper cut against my hand.
“Whoa!” I shout. This isn’t the first time I’m feeling my baby kick, of course—I finally managed to give Little G her first-ever high-five a few weeks ago—but this is by far the strongest movement I’ve felt. “So cool,” I say when Gracie punches me forcefully again. I give Gracie a high-five with my fingertip and she kicks the crap out of my finger, right on cue. I put the microphone to my mouth again. “Sorry about that, folks. Gracie wanted to join the toast to her mommy, I guess. I think she’s inside her mommy’s belly shouting, ‘Hear, hear!’”
Kat pulls the microphone in my hand to her mouth. “We’re starting her young,” she says, and everyone laughs. Kat hands the microphone back to me. “Come on, babe. These people wanna dance. Wrap it up.” She makes a swirling motion with her index finger.
“Okay, just a few more words,” I say. “The missus says I gotta wrap it up. I’d like to say a special thanks to my great friend Reed for that incredible surprise earlier. Wasn’t that amazing?”
Everyone claps and cheers wildly.
“When Reed asked me what song Kat and I wanted for our first dance, I thought he was gonna arrange for the cover band to play it for us. I truly had no idea he was gonna fly James Bay to Maui.” I laugh heartily, thinking about how shocked Kat and I were when James Bay himself waltzed into our reception hall two hours ago and started serenading us on acoustic guitar. I raise my champagne flute to Reed. “Thank you, bro. We’ll never forget that moment as long as we live.”
Reed points his glass at me and winks.
I guide Kat out of her chair, snake my arm around her ever-growing waist, and pull her to me as I address the room again. “And one last thing. With my beautiful wife by my side, I wanna say a few words of thanks to my new family, The Morgans. There’s been a lot of talk about Kat becoming a Faraday today, but, trust me, I got the better end of the bargain. You know that expression ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’? Well, that’s especially true when it comes to Kat.” I raise my glass to Kat’s immediate family at their nearby table, and they all return the gesture. “To Tom Tom Club, Momma Lou, Cheese, Captain, Peen, and Baby Brother—and all the Morgans I’ve met this past week, too—” I raise my glass to the various Morgans seated at tables in the large room. “Thank you for your part in making Kat the incredible woman she is today and for letting me be part of your hilarious and fucking awesome family. Hear, hear. ”
“Hear, hear,” everyone in the room says in unison.
Kat throws her arms around my neck and squeezes me tightly.
“You wanna say a few words?” I whisper to her.
Kat shakes her head. “Hell no. I just wanna dance.”
“So, okay,” I say into the microphone as Kat squeezes the life out of me. “Mrs. Faraday says enough talking about our fucking feelings—it’s time to dance.”
One Hundred Twenty-Six
Josh
“Fucking motherfucker!” Kat shrieks, squeezing my hand. “Jesus Christ Superstar!”
I lean into Kat’s sweaty face. “Do your breathing, babe. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.”
“Fuck that shit. You breathe in through your nose and out your mouth, motherfucker—I want a fucking epidural!”
“Babe, you heard the doctor—everything happened way too fast for an epidural. We missed the window. Just breathe. Like this.” I lean into Kat’s face and model the breathing we learned at our getting-ready-for-childbirth class at the hospital.
Kat’s eyes turn unequivocally homicidal. “If you breathe like that again, I swear I’ll cut off your balls and make s’mores out of ’em,” she growls.
I bite my lip and cease all breathing.
The monitor attached to Kat tells me she’s in the throes of another huge contraction.
“Push now, Kat,” the doctor says. “Right now.”
“I can’t.”
“Sure you can,” I say. “You’re a beast—you can do anything.”
“Just gimme a second—fuck!” She lets out a blood-curdling scream. “Motherfucker!”
I look at the doctor, my heart racing. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” the doctor says. “Kat’s just expressing herself. Isn’t that right, Kat?”
Kat whimpers. “December second’s not for eleven more days—I needed more time to mentally prepare to do this.”
“Sorry, Kat. She’s decided to come today,” the doctor says. “In about three minutes, I’d estimate.”
“But she wasn’t supposed to be a Scorpio,” Kat whines. “She’s supposed to be a Sagittarius.” She lets out a truly pathetic sound. “Please, God, I’ll be good and nice from here on out. I’ll never lose my temper. I’ll be patient. Saintly. Just, please, don’t give me a goddamned fucking female Scorpio.” She grips my hand fiercely. “Babe, listen to me. Tell them to stuff her back in for another twenty-four hours. Please. Tomorrow, she’ll be a sweet little Sagittarius. Please. Pay them, Josh. Make them listen.”
The monitor hooked up to Kat indicates another huge contraction is hitting her—which is something I’d have surmised without the monitor, based on the string of expletives suddenly spewing from her mouth.
“Push now,” the doctor says. “Push with the contraction, Kat. You can do it.”
Kat bears down and pushes, as instructed, growling and whimpering as she does.
When the contraction is over, I lean into Kat’s sweaty face. “Good job, baby. You’re doing great.”
“Okay, Kat,” Dr. Gupta says. “Two more big pushes and the baby will be out.”
“I can’t,” Kat says, her tone pathetic.
I touch Kat’s beautiful, sweaty face. “You can do this, babe.” I squeeze her hand. “We’re so close.”
“What do you mean ‘we’? Are you gonna do this? Are you gonna pass a fucking bowling ball?”
“Push now, Kat,” the doctor instructs. “Right now.”
Kat takes a huge breath and bears down, her face turning bright red.
“Good. That’s good,” Dr. Gupta says. “You’re doing great, Kat. Okay. Rest for a moment and then we’ll do it one more time.”
Kat grips my hand. She’s shaking violently. “I’m done,” she says meekly. “I can’t do any more. Knock me out, Doc. Stuff her back up inside me and cut her out. I don’t care. Do whatever you have to do. I quit.”
I stroke Kat’s beautiful cheek. “You don’t know the meaning of the word ‘quit.’”
“Yes, I do,” Kat whimpers. “I’m not a beast—I want my mommy.” She bursts into tears.
“Your mommy’s coming as fast as she can. Everyone’s on their way, baby. It just happened too fast for them to get here in time.”
“I’ve change my mind. I don’t want a baby, after all. Stuff her back in!” she cries. “Make her go away!”
I laugh, even though I shouldn’t.
“Here we go,” Dr. Gupta says calmly, looking at the monitor next to Kat. “You’re gonna push with this next contraction, Kat—one more big push and this baby will be out and you’ll be a mommy. Come on.”
Kat whimpers pathetically again.
I squeeze Kat’s hand. “Come on, baby. Dig deep.”
“You dig deep, motherfucker,” she says, making me chuckle, but, immediately, she bears down, a
s instructed, grunting loudly with her effort, and not more than twenty seconds later, a tiny, pink angel pops out from between my wife’s legs, shrieking like I just woke her up from an afternoon nap in front of the TV by shouting “Boo!”
And, just like that, my heart is no longer inside my body.
My cheeks are absolutely soaking wet.
And I’m exactly the man—the husband and father—I was always meant to be.
One Hundred Twenty-Seven
Josh
“Babe! Get in here!” Kat shrieks. “They just introduced him!”
I throw on a pair of briefs, race out of the bathroom still wet from my shower, and leap onto the bed next to Kat, careful not to crush Gracie’s blonde head as she sleeps at Kat’s breast.
“There he is!” Kat shrieks, pointing with excitement at the TV.
I look at the television screen and, I’ll be damned, yep, there he is: Will “2Real” Riley, holding a microphone and launching into a beastly performance of his monster hip-hop hit, “Crash” on Saturday Night Live. “Oh my God!” Kat shrieks. “Look at him! He’s killing it!”
“I feel electrified just watching him,” I say. “I can’t imagine how he must feel.”
“Did you know Will was this amazing?”
“I had no idea,” I say. “He was so funny and chill when we hung out with him. Who knew?”
“I guess we were hanging out with Will, not ‘2Real,’ huh?” Kat says.
“Indubitably,” I say.
We sit and watch Will’s entire performance, completely mesmerized, and when it’s over, we cheer and clap like we’re sitting in the live audience.
I grab my phone off the nightstand and quickly shoot a text to Reed. “Just watched your boy on SNL,” I write. “HE KILLED IT. Tell him congrats from Mr. and Mrs. Faraday and Little G.” I put my phone back on the nightstand. “Jesus, between 2Real and Red Card Riot this past year, Reed’s absolutely slaying it.”
“God, I sure hope his streak continues into next year when Daxy’s album comes out,” Kat says.
“Reed sure thinks it will. He told me just the other day he smells a smash hit.”
“Which song?”
“Reed predicts ‘People Like You and Me’ will be the break-out first single.”
“That’s my favorite, too,” Kat says.
Out of nowhere, Gracie busts out with an ear-piercing wail.
“Oh my goodness, little lady,” Kat says, opening a flap on her nursing nightgown and pulling out her engorged boob. “No need to scream, for crying out loud. I’m right here.” She sticks Gracie on her nipple and Gracie immediately latches on and starts gulping down milk in hungry swallows. “Wowza, can this kid eat,” Kat says, looking down at Gracie’s little face.
I lay my palm on the top of Gracie’s soft head as she suckles and stroke her white-blonde peach fuzz. “She’s passionate about eating, that’s for sure,” I say softly. “Aren’t you, my little angel?”
Kat rolls her eyes. “Don’t kid yourself by calling her an angel. We both know she’s a demon spawn disguised as an angel.”
“No. She’s just passionate, like I say—she simply knows what she wants. Nothing wrong with that.” I continue gently stroking Gracie’s soft head. “Isn’t that right, Mademoiselle Terrorist? You’re just assertive, that’s all.”
Kat looks down at Gracie’s face as she nurses. “Mark my words, she’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing, I’m telling you, babe. She’s gonna be bossing you around in no time.”
“Good. I’ve always liked ’em sassy,” I say. “Don’t worry, I know just how to handle her.”
We share a smile.
“So what do you wanna do for your birthday in a couple weeks, honey?” Kat asks. “After three months of being marooned in Babyville, are you in the mood to break out of our baby-bondage and paint the town red?”
I lean down and nuzzle my nose into Gracie’s soft hair for a long moment, breathing in her scent. “Not really,” I say softly. “I’m happy to stay home this year. Why don’t we do the romantic-dinner-thing I’d originally planned for the night you poker-chipped me with Bridgette?”
“You sure? Thirty-one’s a biggie.”
I chuckle. “Thirty-one is meaningless.”
“Bite your tongue. You didn’t think you’d make it to thirty, remember? And now you’re gonna be thirty-one. That’s a big deal.”
I make a face like maybe she’s got a point.
“You sure you don’t wanna get freaky-deaky and do something really wild and crazy to celebrate your unexpected old age?”
I touch Gracie’s hand as she continues to eat and she curls her little fingers around my index finger. “No. I had a huge party for my thirtieth. Jay-Z played, actually.”
“Oh, well that wasn’t excessive or anything.”
“So this year I’m ready to have a quiet celebration, just my wife, my baby, and me—a romantic dinner for two-and-a-half—followed by you and me getting freaky-deaky on the carpet in the nursery again after Little G falls asleep.” I wink. “I really like the way that carpet feels on my balls.”
Without warning, Gracie pulls sharply away from Kat’s breast, milk dripping down her chin, and glares at me like she understood every word of what I just said.
We both burst out laughing at the hilariously pissed expression on Gracie’s face—and the sound of our laughter makes Gracie break into gurgling peals of adorable laughter, too.
“Take a video of her giggling, babe,” Kat says. “Oh my God. She’s hilarious!”
I grab my phone and take the video, followed by a whole bunch of photos of Kat and Gracie together. But after a moment, Gracie begins fussing so Kat tries to get her to feed off her other boob.
“Aw, come on, Gracie-cakes,” Kat says. “Don’t you want my other boob? You’re gonna leave me lopsided, baby.”
Gracie breaks into a pterodactyl scream.
“What the heck?” Kat says. “She gets riled up so freaking fast, I swear to God.”
“Gee,” I say. “I wonder where she gets that?”
“Definitely not from me,” Kat sniffs—and much to my surprise, she sounds completely serious. But before I can reply to her and tell her she’s a delusional loon, my phone buzzes with an incoming call from Reed.
“Oh, it’s Reed—I wanna take this.” I leap out of bed and sprint out of the bedroom, far away from Gracie’s loud shrieks, to take the call.
“Tell him congrats from me!” Kat calls to my back.
“Reed!” I shout into the phone. “Congrats, man! Your boy killed it!”
“Oh my God. Didn’t he? He hit a fucking homerun, man.”
“A grand slam in the bottom of the ninth,” I say. “We were screaming at the TV like we were right there in the audience. Was he loving it?”
“Yeah, afterwards, for sure. But beforehand, he was so nervous, he puked into a trashcan. Oh my God—you should have seen him, worse than you were right before your wedding.” He laughs. “This is the first major performance Will’s given since the whole Carmen thing. She’s normally the one who calms him down when he gets really amped.”
“What ‘whole Carmen thing’?”
“Oh, shit. I didn’t tell you? Oh. Yeah. They broke up.”
“Oh, really? Aw, she seemed like a sweetheart.”
“She is—a total sweetheart. You know how it goes. He’s twenty-four. He fucked it up. It’s to be expected under normal circumstances, but he’s also adjusting to the whole fame thing, you know—women throwing themselves at him wherever he goes. Pretty tall order not to fuck up at least once.”
“Too bad.”
“Believe me, he regrets it.”
“So when are you gonna be on the West Coast, bro?” I ask. “You gotta swing by and see Little G. She’s gotten so big since you saw her.”
“Not for a while, man. I’m hopping a flight to Thailand first thing in the morning with Will. We recorded a song with this Thai hip-hop group, and—”
“A Thai hip-hop group
?” I interject. “I didn’t realize there was such a thing.”
“Yeah. Thaime’s Up. They’re huge in Thailand.”
I laugh. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, they’re massive and so is American hip-hop—this song’s gonna make me a fucking mint, mark my words. So, anyway, we’re shooting the music video with the Thai boys in Phuket for a week and then we’re doing a promotional appearance the following week at a nightclub in Bangkok.”
“Ah, Bangkok,” I say, chuckling. “The scene of the original crime.”
“Ah, yes. I remember it well. If you weren’t such an old man these days, I’d have invited you to join me for a little walk down memory lane.”
“Oh, fuck. No thanks. I’m too old and too happy to do any of that shit now. Almost killed me at eighteen—God only knows what that shit would do to me at thirty-one.”
“Oh, yeah. Happy almost-birthday, old man.”
“Thanks. So what dates are you gonna be in Bangkok?”
He tells me.
“I think Jonas and Sarah are actually gonna be there during those dates,” I say.
“Really? No way.”
“Yeah. Jonas is taking the missus climbing in Mae Do for four days—poor, poor Sarah—and then I’m pretty sure he said they’re gonna hit Bangkok for a few days after that.”
“Well, if the timing works out, tell ’em to come to the promotional thing at the nightclub. I’ll put ’em on the VIP list. Will and the Thai boys are gonna perform their new song, plus they’ll all do ‘Crash’ together. The crowd’s gonna go apeshit—’Crash’ is number one in Thailand right now.”
“Where isn’t ‘Crash’ number one?”
“In countries filled with stupid people.”
I laugh. “Yeah, put Jonas and Sarah on your VIP list, for sure. Sarah loves hip-hop. She’ll freak out.”
“Okay, cool. I’ll text you the details when I have ’em. You can forward the info to your brother.”
“Awesome. Thanks. Just be warned, though, Jonas might try to break your pretty face for torturing him—as much as Sarah loves hip-hop, Jonas absolutely abhors it. Plus, Jonas hates nightclubs—so he’ll be extra grouchy for you.”