“It was an accident.”
That didn’t make any sense to me. “If you use the pill the right way, it’s like 99.9 percent effective,” I pointed out. “If you used it the wrong way, well, that’s on you.”
“You drive me crazy!”
Carly is always temperamental. She’s taken to using her pregnancy as a reason to make public spectacles of herself when the mood strikes. I happen to love a good scene, don’t get me wrong, but I prefer it when I’m making them. Carly keeps citing “hormones” as a reason she’s so mean. I think she’s making that up. Personally, I’m a firm believer she likes being mean and pregnancy is merely a convenient excuse to get away with it.
My name is Avery Shaw, and apparently I’m going to be a godmother to my best friend’s kid in six months. Don’t worry; I’m still looking to find a way to get out of it.
“I’m not trying to drive you crazy,” I said, lifting a tiny dress and wrinkling my nose. There was enough pink to gag a beauty queen. “Who would buy this?”
“That is adorable,” Carly said, grabbing the dress from me in case I infected it with my anti-baby cooties. “A little girl would look adorable in this.”
“And you don’t know whether you’re having a girl or boy yet, right?”
“No.”
“I think you should have a girl,” I said. “It’s too weird to imagine you growing a penis inside of you. That will give me nightmares just thinking about it.”
“I’m seriously considering strangling you with that mobile,” Carly said, pointing to the Disney princess monstrosity hanging one crib over. “No one would blame me. I would get off on temporary insanity charges.”
That gave me an idea for people I wanted to kill if one could legitimately get off on a temporary insanity defense if they were pregnant. “Do you think that’s true?”
“Do I think what’s true?” Carly asked, running her hand over the crib’s spindles. We were supposed to be registering items for a future baby shower. I could think of thirty other ways I prefer spending a spring Sunday afternoon. “What do you think of this one?”
“I think if the kid gets its head stuck between those spindles it’s going to leave funky marks on its skin,” I replied, grabbing a stuffed turtle from another crib. “This is cute.”
Carly rolled her eyes. “I’m registering for important things,” she said. “A stuffed turtle isn’t important.”
“I don’t see how any of this stuff is important,” I admitted, glancing around until my gaze landed on a plastic tower. “Like this.” I stalked over to it. “What are you supposed to do with this piece of plastic? Is it the middle piece of a castle? If so, where is the rest of the castle? A kid is going to be bored playing with one piece of a castle.”
“That’s a diaper genie,” Carly said, her tone clipped.
“Oh, cool,” I said. “If you rub it, does someone pop out to change the kid for you? I would spring for that, because changing a diaper is … ugh.”
“It’s where you put dirty diapers, you idiot,” Carly hissed.
That made absolutely no sense. “Why wouldn’t you just throw them in the garbage?”
“Because they’ll stink up the whole house.”
“You could always move,” I suggested.
“Once a day?”
She had a point. That would probably tax her credit report. “Have you considered putting a shed behind your house and keeping the kid in there? That way you won’t have to smell the poopy diapers.”
A young woman with a huge stomach – I’m not joking, she could pass out gifts at Christmas with that thing – shot me a horrified look.
“She’s just kidding,” Carly said hurriedly, waving off the woman’s concerned face. “She doesn’t really mean it.”
I totally meant it. I decided to keep that to myself, though, and offered the expectant mother what I hoped was a conciliatory smile.
“What was that?” Carly asked once the woman scampered off.
“What? I smiled at her.”
“You looked like a deranged clown,” Carly chided. “If you’re going to come into stores like this with me, you’ve got to stop scaring the other mothers. If you’re this bad now, how do you think things will be when I actually have the baby?”
“I think I probably won’t see you until it graduates from high school.” As usual, I didn’t think before I spoke.
“You have to get over this,” Carly ordered. “I’m having a baby. You’re going to be a godmother. This is supposed to be the happiest time of my life.” As if on cue, Carly burst into tears. Here came those happy hormones again. This whole thing bit the big one. There was no getting around it.
I rolled my eyes until they landed on a young woman comparing plastic nipples one row over. She looked horrified – and oddly sympathetic – about Carly’s outburst. “I will give you a hundred bucks if you come over here and give her a hug,” I offered.
The woman’s mouth dropped open. “W-what?”
“I’m not kidding,” I said. “I don’t do well with tears. I’ll give you a hundred bucks so you can buy however many packages of fake nipples you want – I would let your husband pick out the right shape, by the way – if you just come over here and make her stop crying.”
“Isn’t that your job?” the woman asked.
“I’m supposedly the godmother – although I’m going to figure a way out of that – but I don’t have a job until the kid is born, and then I just have to give it spiritual guidance,” I replied. “I’m not big on spirituality – and I was a menace as a child, so no one wants me giving guidance – so I think I’m just going to be a figurehead instead of a hands-on godmother.”
“Oh, shut up, Avery,” Carly said, wiping her thumbs over her cheeks. “You’re upsetting her.”
“I think she’s upset because she has to buy fake nipples,” I countered. “That’s enough to make anyone cry.”
“I’m excited to have a baby,” the woman shot back.
“Sure you are,” I said. “Everyone is excited to shop for fake nipples … and diaper genies … and baby animal mobiles instead of cool shoes, hoodies or that really neat Star Wars droid you control with your phone.”
“Ignore her,” Carly said, regaining control of her emotions. “She’s not really my friend. I’m just practicing taking care of her so it will be a relief when I have an actual baby to nurture.”
The woman seemed content with that answer. “Good luck.”
“Thank you,” Carly said, pasting a faux smile on her face. “I’m sure I’m going to need it.”
I wasn’t being a good friend to Carly. I knew that. She knew that. Heck, anyone who crossed paths with me over the past few weeks knew that. I couldn’t seem to help myself. I don’t like change and, well, babies freak me out. Yeah, I said it.
I know everyone with ovaries is supposed to take one look at a squawking infant and feel the overwhelming desire to procreate. All I want to do is run in the other direction. Babies are not fun or cool. They smell. They can’t hold their heads up. It’s frowned upon if you take one to the bar. You can’t leave a baby at home and run to the store. And forget about seeing a loud movie. People don’t like it when you take an infant to a midnight showing of a slasher film. Trust me. I know this because I’ve yelled at people who try to do just that. Babies are a pain.
So what happens when your best friend decides to have one and it freaks you out?
“Avery, where did your head just go?” Carly asked, interrupting my reverie.
“I was thinking about what would happen if I took your baby to the new Friday the 13th they’re making,” I admitted, opting for honesty.
“And why would you do that?”
“I have no idea,” I said. “I don’t know what to do with a baby.”
“And that’s why you won’t be dealing with the baby on your own,” Carly said. “I’m not asking you to take the baby. I’m not asking you to raise the baby. I am asking you to stop making that face when I mentio
n the baby, though.”
“What face?” I had a feeling I was being maligned. I often feel persecuted, though, so I try not to fly off the handle until I’m absolutely sure that’s happening.
“The baby freaks you out, and I get it,” Carly said, taking a pragmatic approach. “You’re used to being the center of everyone’s world. The baby threatens your spot at the attention apex of our group.”
I can never tell when she’s messing with me lately, given all the hormones rampaging through her body. “So you’ll make sure the baby doesn’t steal any of my thunder, right?”
Carly made a face that was so exaggerated I couldn’t help but laugh. Thankfully she joined in, too.
“It’s a good thing you decided to be a reporter,” Carly said once she regained her composure. “You’re not even the weirdest one in your newsroom. That’s a frightening thought.”
She wasn’t wrong. “This is true,” I said. “All I ever have to do is point at Marvin … or Duncan … or that lazy guy who sleeps in the corner when he’s supposed to be working, whenever people think I’m weird.”
“Oh, honey, you’re still weird,” Carly said. “You’re just not as weird as it gets. That’s not necessarily something to be proud of.”
It was in my world. “What are you going to do about work when you pop that kid out?” I asked. Carly, an accountant, loved her job. I guessed she was going to pop the kid out, hire a nanny and then return to work a week later. That sounded like the best scenario.
Carly pinched the bridge of her nose, and I got the distinct impression that she was trying to ward off a headache. “I get maternity leave.”
“How much?”
“Three months at full pay and an additional six months at no pay if I choose to take it,” Carly answered.
“Wait a second … .” I did the math and didn’t like what I came up with. “So there are people out there who stay with their kid and get no money from work at the same time? What’s the benefit of that?”
“Bonding with the baby.”
“Ugh. I’d rather bond with the guy who sleeps in the corner and wears jeans so high they look as if you could go wading in them in the middle of a desert,” I said.
“What are you going to do when you have a baby, Avery?” Carly challenged.
“Is killing myself an option?”
“That is not funny,” Carly hissed, leaning forward. “Are you saying you don’t want kids?”
I considered the idea for a split second and realized, no matter what, I wasn’t going to come up with the answer she wanted to hear. “I’m pretty sure I never want kids.”
Carly was flabbergasted. “But … who is my baby going to play with?”
“Other people will have kids,” I replied. “I’m just not going to do it.”
“Have you told Eliot this?” Carly challenged, referring to my boyfriend, Eliot Kane. We’d recently admitted we loved each other. That was about as deep as we were willing to tread at the moment.
“I’m pretty sure Eliot knows,” I said. “He knows I don’t like sharing, and if I have a kid I’m going to have to share my video game system and consider letting him play with my Star Wars toys. No one wants that.”
“But, Avery, every woman wants a child,” Carly hedged.
Was that true? If so, I was apparently defective. “I don’t,” I said. “I never have.”
“Didn’t you pretend your dolls were babies when you were a kid?” Carly wasn’t ready to give up – not yet, at least.
“I didn’t have dolls,” I replied. “I had stuffed animals and Star Wars toys. I don’t like dolls, so no one ever bought one for me.”
“Every girl likes dolls.”
“I think dolls are really empty husks, and evil souls try to climb into them to murder people,” I said, not caring in the slightest that Carly looked as if I just admitted I liked to lick feet and smell armpits. The look told me it probably wasn’t the time to mention that I had a sneaking suspicion she wanted me to have a kid only because she knew I would get fatter than her while pregnant.
“You’re making that up.”
“I’m not,” I said. “I don’t like kids. They bug me. I’m sorry if that ruins some grand fantasy of yours, but I’m not having kids to make you happy.”
“You’re an only child, though,” Carly pressed. “What about your mother? She has to want a grandchild.”
“I’m not having a kid for her either,” I said. “If she wants a grandchild she can adopt one somewhere – I see the little buggers running free on the street all the time; she can grab one of them – but I’m not giving her one. I’m not saying this just to be a pain. I honestly don’t like kids.”
“But … .” Carly was flabbergasted. “You’re an overgrown kid.”
“Apparently I’m a closeted self-loather,” I replied, unruffled. “You’re not going to talk me into it. I’m sorry, but … no.”
“Well, this just bites,” Carly said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I thought for sure I would feel better if you got fat with me.”
“I knew it,” I hissed, extending a finger and wagging it in her face. “You’re evil.”
“I really did want us to have kids at the same time so they could be best friends,” Carly argued.
“I’ll buy your kid liquor when it is sixteen and call it a day,” I said, shifting my attention back to the store. “Can we be done with this? I can’t look at another crib or … whatever this is.” I held up a strange-looking mechanical device. “What is this? It looks like music comes out of it or something.”
Carly snorted. “That’s a breast pump.”
Realization dawned. “Oh, so that means … .” I shoved the breast pump back on the shelf and shook my head to dislodge the horrifying images. “I am never going into a baby store with you again.”
“We’ll see,” Carly answered. “I … .” She didn’t get a chance to finish because her attention shifted to the front of the store, where it connected with the rest of the mall. A frantic woman stood by the huge car seat rack, her hands clasped in front of her as she desperately looked around.
“I wonder what her deal is,” I said, remaining in my spot.
“Shouldn’t we check on her?” Carly prodded.
“She’s in a baby store. She might be going into labor or something. I don’t want to see that. It’s gross.”
“That woman is too old to have a baby,” Carly said. “I think something is wrong with her.”
The woman picked that moment to open her mouth. “Someone kidnapped my stepchildren!”
“Well, great,” I muttered. “When I tell this story later, Carly, I’m totally blaming you.”
“What else is new?”
2
I blew out a frustrated sigh and moved toward the woman, resigned to helping find kids who were probably in the arcade feasting on candy instead of in mortal danger. Of course, candy and the arcade sounded a lot more fun than hanging out in a baby store. Maybe this would work out in my favor.
The woman’s gaze locked with mine as I approached. “My stepkids are missing,” she said, her eyes widening. “I think someone took them.”
“Calm down,” I instructed. “I’m sure no one took them.”
“What’s going on?” A store clerk with a nametag reading “Karen” approached. “Is something wrong?”
“There’s no reason to panic,” I said. “I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding.”
“What’s a misunderstanding?” Karen asked.
“My stepkids are missing and I think someone kidnapped them,” the woman said, chewing on her thumbnail.
“It was probably a pervert.”
I had no idea who said it – other than it was a woman – but I wanted to smack her. That was a surefire way to start a panic. “You don’t know that,” I said. “How old are the kids?” I asked, refusing to freak out.
“They’re eleven and thirteen.”
“Boys? Girls?”
“One boy and one
girl,” the woman said.
“My name is Avery Shaw,” I said, pasting on my best “I’m in charge and you can trust me” look. “I’m sure we’ll figure this out. We should call mall security. They’ll be able to lock the doors and make sure no one accidentally wanders away.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” the woman said, her voice barely a whisper as her eyes darted around the store, refusing to focus on any one thing. I was losing her.
“What is your name?” I asked, hoping to drag her back to reality.
“Sandy Jackson,” she replied, her voice distant, almost as if she was in a trance. “I … I think they’re probably dead.”
I narrowed my eyes. Seriously? I don’t understand how people can be so dramatic. “I’m sure they’re not dead,” I said. “They’re probably in the arcade … or a toy store … or I think they have a pet store here. I’m sure they’re not dead.”
“Who’s dead?” Carly asked, moving to the spot behind me.
“My stepkids,” Sandy answered.
Carly’s eyebrows nearly flew up her forehead. “Your stepkids are dead?”
“They’re not dead,” I snapped. “Stop telling people they’re dead.”
“They’re not dead,” Karen agreed. “They’ve been kidnapped by perverts.”
“That’s even worse,” Carly said.
“You’re making things worse,” I hissed, tugging on my limited patience as I fought the urge to yank Carly’s hair.
“Welcome to my world,” Carly replied. “You always make things worse.”
“I do not.”
“You do, too.”
“That is a vicious lie,” I said. “I am always calm and rational. Look around. I’m not the one telling people that these kids are dead or kidnapped by rapists.”
“Omigod!” I didn’t notice the young mother who had been picking out synthetic nipples until she was right behind me. “There’s a murderer in the mall! Everyone, grab your kids and hold onto them. He’s a pervert, too!”
I pressed the heel of my hand against my forehead as word spread throughout the store and people began to gasp and scream. “Well … this sucks.”
avery shaw 08 - misprints & mistakes Page 2