“Wow.” I burrow farther under the blanket.
“I know.”
“What are they going to do about school?”
“Not sure,” Jessie says. “I don’t think they’ve a hundred percent decided. Baby’s due in December, so they’re going to try to have a normal semester, I guess. But after that, no idea.”
“I guess I should text her, huh? And Dylan.”
But when I open my texts, the name I look for is Ben’s.
Just heard the news!! omfg, I type. You were NOT WRONG about something being up with Dylan!!!!!!
Ben writes back immediately. I KNOW. It doesn’t even feel real yet. So I’m Uncle Ben now?? Like the rice???
A moment later, he adds: I just have no idea how to do this. I’m at a baby store literally right now and it’s aggressively cute but so overwhelming, like how do I know what this baby wants?? It’s not even born?
I grin down at my phone. Haha no clue. I guess I should get something for them too at some point, huh
WAIT, Ben writes. Are you home rn? I’m on the upper west side, Columbus and 80th, it’s like right across from the museum. Come meet me?
Baby shopping with Ben.
On a Sunday afternoon.
Like a pair of newlywed dads. What if—
Nope. Absolutely not. Butterflies, get the fuck out of my stomach. You know what I’m not going to do this time? Get my hopes up for some kind of capital-M Moment, when I know perfectly well Ben’s probably standing right next to capital-M Mario at this very second.
Twenty minutes later, I spot Ben reading his phone outside a bank of expensive-looking boutiques. But he shoves it in his pocket and hugs me as soon as he sees me.
“Just in time,” he says. “They were starting to side-eye me pretty hard in there. I think they think I’m a baby-store criminal?”
I laugh, feeling slightly dizzy already. “I hear that’s a real problem in this town.”
“Baby-store crimes?”
“They thought it would all be over once they caught the onesie bandit, but—”
“Cute.” He pokes my arm. “Should we go in?”
“Sure! I mean—unless you want to wait for Mario to get here?”
“Oh—no, he’s packing.” Ben scratches the back of his neck, suddenly flustered. “I’ll probably head over a little later to help him.” He pauses. “Or not. I guess he’s pretty much done? We—um. He was going to leave tomorrow, but he pushed the U-Haul rental back a week. Couldn’t miss Dylan’s wedding.”
“Right.” I follow him into the store, trying to ignore the pang in my chest. We. “You were right—this place is aggressively cute.” I peer around the space, taking in the spherical light fixtures and bright white display tables, holding artfully arranged onesies and bedding.
Ben points to a stack of organic blankets, each patterned with a different illustrated print. “See, this is exactly what I’m talking about. Does the baby like macarons? Does it even have a digestive system yet? Who fucking knows!”
I smile. “Okay, but they have unicorns. And narwhals!”
“Absolutely fucking not. I’m not having Dylan mock me for another six months about how narwhals are real.”
“Wait, Dylan thinks narwhals are real?”
Ben tilts his head. “They are real.”
“Uhhh . . .”
Ben bursts out laughing. “Right? That’s what I said! Arthur, it was so bad. I had this whole water scene mapped out for the Wicked Wizard War sequel, and yeah. So, I’m telling Dylan about it—this is Christmas break—and he’s like, ‘Benion, I love you, but I can’t let you set a narwhal scene in the Caribbean.’ So I start talking like an asshole about how it’s my ‘interpretation of a fantasy creature,’ and Dylan? Fucking loses it. Like, laughing so hard I thought he was choking. Because, as it turns out . . .” Ben pulls out his phone, types into a search bar, and holds it up to show me.
It’s a photograph of a whale with a long, pointy horn.
“WAIT—”
“Absolutely one hundred percent real.”
“I—had no idea.”
Ben makes a face that’s somehow split between a smile and a cringe. “We’re the only two people on earth who didn’t know.”
“Life comes at you fast.”
“Speaking of.” Ben lets out a quick, breathless laugh. “Can you believe Dylan and Samantha planned a wedding right under our noses?”
“I know. True legends.”