Next to me, Corey grins, his head still bowed. “I’m thankful for everything that has happened in the last four minutes. And for being here.”
He squeezes my hand. “I’m thankful that even with everything changing out there in the world, I can come home and find that nothing has changed here,” I say. Easy enough. Filled with things better left unsaid. They know. Time to move along.
I squeeze Bear’s hand. Only then do I notice it’s sweaty. And that he’s way tense. And that he’s almost vibrating.
Oh, balls. I don’t know if I want to know what is going to come out of his mouth.
We’re quiet as we wait. His grip gets tighter on my hand.
“Bear?” I hear Otter whisper. “You okay?”
His hand shakes.
Oh no.
I’m too late.
“We’ve decided to have a baby!” Bear blurts out. Quite loudly. And a little bit slurred. And a little bit hysterical.
I just… I don’t even know what to do with this. I don’t even try to pick my jaw up off the table. From the looks of it, no one else does either. Well, except for Otter, who buries his face in his hands.
And by the grace of God (or whatever force it is that runs the mind of Derrick Thompson) it spills forth: “I didn’t even think I wanted to be near kids, much less have one for myself! They’re sticky and gross and they smell weird, and they’re always leaking fluids, and they do stupid shit like eat bugs and glue, and the cost! Holy fuck me sideways, the cost? They always want new stuff like clothes and food and slap bracelets and Super Nintendos and Hypercolor T-shirts! I don’t think they even make Hypercolor t-shirts anymore! Where would I even go to find one now? Goodwill? I can’t even go into Goodwill without feeling like my dreams are dying! And kids get hurt so easy! What if he loses an arm in a boating accident or gets attacked by a gorilla when we go to the zoo on an educational visit? I don’t know if I could deal with a two-armed kid, and now I have to have a kid with only one arm because he wanted to try and feed the gorilla cotton candy? That’s some fucking bullshit! I didn’t even want this, but then we were sitting at a restaurant minding our own business when this little boy walks by wearing little checkered Vans, and he was walking and singing a song and dancing. He was dancing, and all of a sudden I turned to Otter and demanded he put a baby in me! But I’m a guy, and he’s a guy, and that’s biologically impossible, but what the fuck is going on in my body that all I could think about was offering those parents five hundred dollars if we could just buy their son so I could hold his hand while he wore his checkered Vans and sang a song and danced? How is it even remotely normal that my biological clock is ticking? You know me! The idea of me raising a child is so far out of the realm of possibility that it should be absolutely ludicrous, but no! It’s all fucking Otter’s fault! He’s the one who encouraged this! He’s the one that said this was okay! And now I’m drunk again and I’m pretty sure I’m going to turn into a stay-at-home mom who gets wasted on Merlot at one in the afternoon while waiting for the kids to come home, and I’ll be forced to go to T-ball games and I’ll hide my wine in juice boxes because I think T-ball is literally the most excruciating thing to watch. I mean, come on. The ball is sitting right there and you miss it? Are you fucking blind? But then it all comes back to that little kid in the checkered Vans, and I don’t care. I will be the alcoholic T-ball mom who gets drunk and yells at the refs because my kid just needs a little more time to hit the ball so the refs had better fucking calm the fuck down!”
He’s panting by the time he finishes. His face is red. He slings back the rest of the wine.
“No words,” Corey says in awe. “Should… have sent… a poet.” Jodie Foster in Contact he is not.
“You guys are going to have a kid?” Jerry says, sounding thunderstruck.
“We’re going to be grandparents again?” Alice says with tears in her eyes.
“What is in this wine?” Ian asks, frowning at his glass.
“This is such a wonderful day,” Stephanie says happily.
“Hey, Mom!” JJ says. “What do you call a bunny with a bent penis? Fucks Funny!”
“JJ!” Anna shrieks. “Where did you hear that?”
JJ’s eyes go wide. “Dad told me, and then he said not to tell you.” He rests his chin on his hand and pouts. “Oh crap. Now I’m going to be hung by my thumbs in the orphanage.”
“Traitor,” Creed grumbles.
“Creed!” Anna shouts.
“Anna’s pregnant again,” he says, raising his hands as if to ward off the incoming blows.
“Creed!”
“What?” he says, sounding offended. “You are. I should know. I put it there. On purpose this time.”
“You’re what?” her parents say at the same time.
“Again?” Otter asks.
She rolls her eyes. “Yes. Again. Eight weeks.” She casts a murderous glare at Creed, who is whistling and staring at the ceiling. “We were going to wait to tell you, because we wanted today to be about the Kid.”
“I have no problem with this,” I assure her. “Please, continue.” When you’re knee-deep in it, it’s better to just go with it; otherwise you get bowled over.