Luckily, I don’t have to face an evening of sitting in my bedroom alone, watching a marathon of My 600 lb. Life and trying not to think about Kai. Because when I text Elle and Sam to let them know I’m off-duty tonight, Elle sends back a flurry of happy-face emojis. Perfect, come over! There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you guys. Nadeem will make a charcuterie board.
If I have to be apart from Zuri and Keeva, Nadeem’s charcuterie board will at least make the separation easier. He’s very into tablescapes and fancy appetizers, and our last get-together at Elle’s featured a cranberry-rosemary cheese roll that was better than sex with Nick.
It was not better than the kiss with Kai, but I push that thought out of my mind as I head to Elle’s. She and Nadeem live in a cozy Cape Cod in Grandview with a blue door and a bird bath in the front yard, and I take my work boots off before stepping inside. Elle will murder me if I track anything from Ape House onto her hardwood floor. Actually, she’d probably say nothing and then attack the floor with a Swiffer later, but I don’t want to lose my access to the cheese roll.
“We’re in here!” Elle calls when she hears me enter, and I follow her voice through the kitchen and into the living room. It’s a cooler-than-usual evening, and she’s opened the windows to let in a gentle breeze. Hoping that will ward off some of my lingering gorilla odor, I plop down in a modular armchair across from the couch, where Elle and Sam are curled up with Trixie the Jack Russell mix.
“We were just saying that we’re starting to forget what your face looks like,” Sam says, handing me a can of strawberry-flavored Bubly. She studies me for a moment. “Just as pretty as I remember, but with some seriously alarming under-eye circles.” She squints. “Can I ask out of nothing but pure love: what’s going on with your hair?”
Blushing, I run a hand over my ponytail. I haven’t washed my hair in a few days, and it got so oily this morning that I tried to use Jack’s baby powder as dry shampoo despite Lottie’s warnings.
“I substituted baby powder for dry shampoo. Big mistake,” I admit. “Anyway, Elle, what do you want to ask us?”
I’m slightly terrified she’s going to announce that she’s planning a home birth and wants Sam and me to assist with it. I’ve attended my fair share of primate births, so I know things can get pretty gnarly, and while I’m happy to help Elle however I can, I’d much rather wait outside with flowers and a bottle of champagne.
“Later,” Elle says. “Sam was just catching me up on things between her and Freya.” She nudges Sam with her elbow, and Trixie lets out an exasperated sigh until Elle starts rubbing her ears again.
I’m shocked when Sam, who’s given us play-by-plays of most of her sexual encounters, some so detailed that Elle just stared into space for a good ten minutes afterward, actually blushes. “Well, there’s not much to tell. Freya’s great. She’s so smart—like, she’s given me so many ideas for the blog—and she’s funny as hell. Honestly, she got me to laugh at a dad joke the other day, and I once broke up with a guy for reading me the riddle on the end of a Popsicle stick.”
“Oh my God,” Elle says, clapping her hands. “You love her.”
“Whoa. Slow down, Nora Roberts,” Sam says. “It’s only been a few weeks. But yeah, I like her a lot, and I can see things going in that direction.”
I want to be happy for Sam, but doubt pops into my head instantly. What’s going to happen at the end of the summer when Freya and Kai and the rest of the crew pack up their tripods and peace out? How can Sam maintain a relationship with someone who changes continents like Nona changes espadrilles? Oh my God, what if she falls so deeply in love that she quits her job and follows Freya around the globe, only coming home to visit once a year? I take a long sip of sparkling water and try not to hyperventilate. Things are changing too quickly around here; one minute the three of us are singing a terrible, off-key rendition of Lizzo’s “Truth Hurts” at karaoke night, and the next Elle’s popping out a baby and Sam’s trading her corner-window office for a suitcase and a travel-sized bottle of moisturizer.
I understand that my friends and I want different things out of life, and sometimes that means we’ll grow in different directions. But I remember the stinging message Kai delivered to me in the nursery: Your life is only small because you made it that way. I can’t help thinking that my friends’ lives are getting bigger and bigger, and I worry they’ll get so big that they’ll outgrow me.
But I don’t want to rain on Sam’s parade, so I clap my hands like Elle did. “That’s so exciting.”
Sam smiles. “Thanks. I was hoping you guys would join us for dinner sometime next week. Maybe Friday? You usually have Friday nights off, Luce, and I’d love for you both to get to know Freya. I’m thinking Café Istanbul. She loves Mediterranean food, and they have great sigara borek.”
“Of course,” Elle says, not missing a beat.
I have no idea what sigara borek is, but the excitement on Sam’s face is undeniable, and I have no good reason to decline. Sure, I want to spend every waking moment working on the surrogacy project, but I owe it to Sam to be there for her.
“Sounds good,” I tell her. “I’ll make sure I’m free.”
“Moving on,” Sam says, tucking her legs underneath her. “A little bird told me that our very own Lucy Rourke left Huli Huli with none other than Kai Bridges. Do you have anything you’d like to share with the group, Lucy?”
Ugh, I should have known. The zoo really is a rumor mill on steroids, and anything that happens within five miles of its gates is bound to be witnessed by someone.
“Was it Akilah from Invertebrates?” I ask, scowling. I thought I saw her parking her SUV when I hopped into Kai’s minivan.
“And Mary-Claire from Amphibians,” Elle adds. “Who heard it from Charlie from Guest Relations, who I’m assuming heard it from Margo.”
I shake my head. “Well, my car wouldn’t start, and Kai saved me from having to carpool home with Nick. That’s all.”
I’m not ready to tell my friends about Kai’s strange phone call and how I rescued him from Courtney the bartender with a disgusting fact about scorpions, and I’m definitely not about to tell them we kissed in the nursery. For one thing, I don’t want to listen to a good-natured chorus of “we told you so’s” about my initial contempt for him. And I certainly don’t want to recount the argument Kai and I had afterward, where I freaked out over losing my focus and he implied that my life was pathetic. They’d either try to convince me that commitment isn’t always so terrible, or they’d feed me chocolate and give each other knowing looks that say, Oh, Lucy, our poor little work-obsessed friend, can’t she ever just be normal? And even if they somehow understood why I panicked after the kiss, I’m not ready to share that moment with them yet. Kai might think I’m a cowardly ding-dong in a furry vest, but the kiss, like my Guilty Pleasures confession, was just between the two of us. And I want to keep it that way, at least for now.
At least until I can get the memory of his breath against my skin out of my mind.
“He drives a minivan,” I add, lest Elle and Sam sense that I’m holding something back. “Not a Lamborghini.”
“Freya says Kai’s very down to earth,” Sam says, petting Trixie’s head. “Apparently he donates the majority of his earnings to different wildlife foundations.”
Elle sighs. “That’s so sweet.”
“Right?” Sam agrees. “Plus, Kai and Freya and a couple guys from Small Mammals are taking some animals to the Ronald McDonald House next weekend to cheer up the families.”
I make a focused effort not to picture a Crocodile Dundee hat–wearing Kai bringing smiles to the faces of sad children, delighting them with tales of his jungle adventures while Poppet the lemur rests on his shoulder. My effort does not go well.
Dammit.
“Ladies,” Nadeem greets us, strolling into the living room carrying a wooden tray. “I present to you: a summer charcuterie board. Today’s edition includes smoked chorizo, bacon-onion jam, and pearl mozzarella marinated in herbs and spices.” He sets the food on the coffee table, and Trixie sniffs the spread, getting dangerously close to swiping a cracker.
“Thank you, honey,” Elle says, standing up to give him a peck on the cheek.
“Yes, thank you, honey,” Sam echoes, her mouth already stuffed with chorizo. “We love you very much.”
“We love you the most,” I agree, going straight for the pearl mozzarella. It’s been a while since I’ve eaten anything besides KIND bars or Pita Pockets, and it tastes like heaven. Besides, Nadeem’s interruption probably stopped Sam from revealing some other devastatingly charming tidbit about Kai, like the fact that he’s single-handedly developing a cure for cancer or funding a rescue farm for orphaned alpacas.
“So, Elle,” I say, aiming for a swift change of subject, “what’s the big question?”
“If you’re proposing marriage, I’m in,” Sam says. “I’ll be a throuple with you and Nadeem if he promises to keep bringing me cheese.”
“A quople,” I correct her. “No, a quadrouple? Whatever it is, don’t leave me out. This chorizo is incredible.”
Sam narrows her eyes at me. “I thought you weren’t into commitment.”
I hold up a cracker. “I’ll commit to this jam no problem.”
Laughing, Elle reaches for a cracker as Nadeem, probably worried that we’re going to force him to watch The Bachelorette with us, heads back to the kitchen.
“Okay, so, Nadeem and I were talking, and we think the baby needs godparents.” She places a hand on her belly. “He’s going to ask his brother to be godfather, and I wanted to know if you guys would be godmothers!”
“Godmothers?” I ask. “But I haven’t been to church since Nona forced me to make my First Communion. And I got in trouble then for complaining that the bread was stale.”
Elle laughs. “Yes, godmothers, but not in a religious sense. As you know, Nadeem’s family is Hindu, and I’m Christian, but we don’t want to push any particular religion on the baby. You’d be godmothers in the symbolic sense. Like, people he or she can talk to when Deem and I drive them crazy. Special aunts who spoil them with love and an extra helping of ice cream. Role models. I don’t have sisters, but you guys are as good as.”
“Oh my God, Elle,” Sam says, almost choking on an olive. “Are you serious? I would love to! Aunt-Fairygodmother Sam is going to spoil the shit out of that kiddo. I’m talking ball pit, pony, that mini Mercedes G-Wagon Kim Kardashian’s kids have. I can’t wait.”
“No ponies!” Nadeem calls from the kitchen. “They’re against city ordinance!”
“Ordinance, schmordinance,” Sam says, wrapping an arm around Elle. “Of course we’ll be godmothers! Right, Luce?”
Panic floods me. Does being a godmother mean I’m next in line to raise the baby should the unthinkable happen to Elle and Nadeem? I picture myself squeezing a crib into my cramped office. I’d be like Katherine Heigl in that terrible movie where she and Josh Duhamel raise her late friend’s baby, except I’d do a crappy job and there’d be no Josh Duhamel.
I am not cut out for legal guardianship.
“So,” I say, “um.” The cracker in my hand falls to the floor, and Trixie ditches the couch to rescue it. “That’s, like, such an honor. To be asked to fulfill, you know, such an important role.” I sip my Bubly, wishing it were spiked. “Thank you. But let’s be real: that’s more of a Sam job than a Lucy one, and we all know it.”
“That’s not true,” Sam says.
Elle shakes her head. “You’re both equally important to me, and to this baby. I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t want you to accept.”
I stuff another piece of cheese in my mouth to buy myself time. It’s not that I’m not excited for Elle’s baby; I am, even if I worry that once she becomes a mom, she won’t have time for my bullshit anymore. I’m happy to be Auntie Lucy, who brings over toys and treats and babysits the nugget so Elle and Nadeem can have date night. But godmother—role model, as Elle said—is something more.
Elle’s baby needs a role model like Sam, who can be professionally successful and manage a budding relationship at the same time. The baby doesn’t need a role model who has to be told not to wear khaki to important events, or whose boss kindly but firmly implies that she reeks. It doesn’t need a role model who can’t remember to get her engine light checked.
And it definitely doesn’t need a role model who refers to it as “it.”
“I just don’t think I’d be very good at it,” I admit, hating the crestfallen look on Elle’s face.
Karina taught me there’s no commitment that can’t be broken, and Nick showed me that making one only ends in misery. I don’t want to let the baby down before they’re even born by making promises I can’t deliver.
“Can I think about it?” I ask, worried that if I outright reject the offer, Elle will burst into tears. The last thing I want to do is hurt her, and I need time to figure out how to decline in a way that won’t break her heart.
“Of course,” Elle says. “Take all the time you need.”
Sam, already on track for Godmother of the Year, tosses out some theme ideas for a late-fall baby shower, and Elle compiles them into a list on her phone. Trixie, sniffing me intently, jumps up on my lap and starts licking up cracker crumbs. I try to join in on the shower ideas, but I know as much about baby showers as I do about carburetors, and after a few minutes, I’m just eating jam by the spoonful while my friends ooh and ahh over Pinterest suggestions.
But no matter how many olives and mozzarella pearls I swallow, I can’t get rid of the gnawing feeling that Kai was right—that my friends’ lives are expanding, evolving, while I’m staying exactly where I am. That my life, whether I want to admit it or not, is small.