Tonight is the Wilder family dinner.
Lucy and company weren’t kidding about the size of this soirée. The Wilder lot is full of cars. I park Bernadette—Kane came earlier, and I needed a nap. Approaching the front porch, I see the party spilling out onto it and hear the din of lots of people talking and laughing. A bevy of kids races around the front of the house from the back, followed by a big fluffy mutt, then disappears around the other side.
As I take another step, I feel an unnerving sensation, and it has nothing to do with the kids or any Wilder. It’s the result of my being a strong candidate for a wardrobe malfunction.
Earlier this evening, I realized I had no pants that fit. Which happened overnight. I put on my last pair of leggings, but while I was finishing up getting ready, the waistband rolled down and snuck under my belly, like my pants were retreating in fear. Still, optimistically, I decided they would be okay. It was just one evening.
But with each step I take toward the porch, they slide lower on my ass.
And I can’t flee. I’ve been spotted. Lucy separates herself from a group of guests or family or both and comes to greet me with a big smile. She’s been great to me this week—she introduced me to the OB/GYN practice she’s used—even gave them a heads-up call to convince them to see me on short notice, so I could make a Rush Creek-based birth plan. She also found me a friend’s Airbnb at a good price, to get me through the period right before and right after the birth—since I will need comfier digs then.
“Hey!” she says. “You made it. Okay, so, don’t be intimidated. I’m going to make sure you know who everyone is. And you won’t be quizzed.”
“I, um, might need a minute—” I lean in and explain the situation to her, that I need to go back to my Airstream and change.
She giggles. “I have soooo been there. And I’d lend you some of my stuff, except I think you could put two of you in my maternity clothes. Go change,” she says, and shoos me off.
When I return, I’m wearing the only thing that seems to fit—the green dress from the day Kane brought me the Boston cream pie. The one I was wearing when he kissed me. Which feels…
Well, fraught.
But beggars can’t be choosers. Especially when they’re pregnant.
Lucy’s waiting. She links arms with me and leads me into the fray. “Just remember, no one expects you to remember all our names or who we go with.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, and she gives me a friendly sideways smile.
Lots of introductions follow. Lucy’s great about reminding me who people are, but I quickly lose track. All I remember is that three of the kids belong to Amanda and her husband Heath (who I also meet), and one to Brody and Rachel. Gabe has the baby, Willow, strapped to his chest, which is… really, really stinkin’ adorable.
“Here,” Rachel says, appearing from nowhere and shoving a glass of something into my hand. “I assumed no alcohol, so this is non-alcoholic sparkling cider.”
I smile, gratefully, and drink, trying to catch my breath.
We end up in the kitchen, where there’s some kind of complex pizza operation going on.
“Want to help?” Kane asks. He’s spreading sauce on a circle of dough. “It’s a make-your-own pizza assembly line. We need someone to sprinkle cheese.”
“Yes!” Small talk makes me squirmy and it’s way easier for me to be myself if I have my hands full.
He pushes a saucy dough circle my way and hands me a huge, industrial-kitchen-sized bowl of mozzarella cheese.
Watching the Wilders in action, I pass a few happy minutes as cheese master. Amanda has wandered in with a small boy at her side and set him up at the table. She leans over and cuts his pizza into bite sized pieces, then hands him a small fork. A few minutes later, Gabe strolls in, frees Willow from her carrier, and drops her into a high chair. He sits across from her with a small bowl and spoon and, as she hoots with delight, shovels baby food into her wide-open baby bird mouth.
Still in the pizza assembly line, I sprinkle cheese and push my finished product to Jessa, who adds toppings. I’m grateful to have something to do because I’m feeling a little overwhelmed.
“Oh, shit,” Gabe says suddenly. “Literally, shit. I think I’ve got a diaper blowout on my hands here. Can someone get Luce? This is a two-man job. Three, maybe, if you count her face.”
Willow’s beaming face is covered with baby food. It’s in her eyebrows and hair.
“Let Luce relax,” Amanda says. “I’ll get it.” She starts to get up, but Kane puts a hand on her shoulder and pushes her down.
“You’re on your feet 24/7,” he says. “Let me get it.”
“Willow,” Gabe tells his happily babbling daughter. “There are people lining up to change your diaper. You’re a super star.”
Kane dampens a washcloth and strides to Gabe and Willow’s aid. He bends down and begins removing rice cereal and sweet potatoes from Willow’s face and hands, as she erupts into protests.
“Who’s my pretty girl?” he coos to her, booping her nose with the washcloth. “Peek-a-boo!” he says, and suddenly she’s smiling again, letting him finish with her face.
I look around to see if the other women seem to think any of this behavior is odd. Like, maybe he’s putting on a show for me. If I were him, I’d be putting on a show for me.
Jessa intercepts my searching look and smiles. “He’s always like this,” she says, as if I’d asked my question aloud. “Kane adores Willow.”
Between them, Gabe and Kane wrestle Willow out of her seat and carry her off into the next room for a diaper change. I crane my neck.
Jessa smiles at me and shoves a plate with a hot piece of pizza into my hands. “Take a break and eat,” she says. “I’ll do cheese until you’re ready to take over again. We’re slowing down, so I can manage both toppings and cheese.”
I wander in the direction Kane went. He and Gabe have a whole operation going on there. Willow lies on a changing mat on a towel on the floor. The two men have a system of wipes and washcloths. Kane is collecting some of the foulest clothes I have ever seen into a plastic bag. “Can I burn these?” he asks Gabe, who laughs.
“I wish,” Gabe says. “Throw them straight into the washer, and make sure you close and latch it, or Buck will—”
“Please don’t finish that thought,” Kane says, but he’s laughing, too, elbowing his brother and teasing Willow.
Any other woman, I think. Any other woman would see this and hold out her ring finger. Any other woman would park her RV in his driveway and stay for the rest of her life.
I realize, suddenly, that my chest is tight, that it’s hard to draw a full breath. I think I must make a sound, because Kane turns around and sees me. He smiles, and then—realizing I’m struggling, he starts to rise to his feet.
“I’m okay,” I say. “I just need some air.”
I set my plate of pizza on a nearby shelf and hurry outside.