“Okay, fine. I’ll have a stupid baby shower,” I say resigning myself to my fate.
“Yay!” Elliott yells, but I cut her off.
“Do I have to do anything for it?”
“Just tell us a date that works for you and go get registered as soon as possible.”
“Register? Like you do for a wedding?”
“Yep. Same exact thing. But you do it for baby items. You can do it at just about any big box store. It mostly depends on which one you want to shop at, so just pick whatever is most convenient for you.”
I sigh again, still feeling overwhelmed by this plan. But if I have one thing to cling to right now, it’s that Elliott knows what she’s doing. She’s successfully raised a kid that’s still alive, she runs the childcare center at work, and she’s willing to work with my mother. At this point, she’s the best ally I have in my new, strange life.
“Okay. I’m due May fourth, so just tell me when you want to do it, and I’ll be there.”
“Oh, a Star Wars baby. Fun!”
“Yeah, well, as long as no one shows up with any R2D2 shit, I’ll even pretend to smile at this thing. And won’t punch anyone who touches my stomach. But that’s the best I can offer.”
“Great! I’ll get with your mom, and we’ll get it all sorted out. It’s going to be okay, Rosalind. I promise you won’t regret it.”
Funny—I already do.
Chapter Nineteen
JOEY
Rosalind went ahead and moved into my room. We never talked about it, it just sort of became this unspoken thing that she was more comfortable with me than without. It may actually be my very comfortable bed, but I’m choosing to believe it’s my company. Or my ability to scratch the itch her pregnancy hormones have kicked into overdrive. Or the foot rubs I give her after scratching said itch.
Either way, about a month ago, I had a lightbulb moment: Rosalind doesn’t like talking about her feelings very much. It makes her so uncomfortable she avoids it at all costs. She also doesn’t like asking for what she needs. She’d rather do it on her own until she hits a certain breaking point, and then she bowls over anyone who gets in her way. When all of that hit me, I also realized I was tired of pretending she wanted her own space. I took a chance and made the decision for her with no fanfare or heartfelt emoji eyes. Just matter-of-factly moved her clothes into my closet.
I half expected her to throw my clothes in her old room and kick me out of mine, but the only reaction she had when she found them was a slight raise of her eyebrows after which she promptly tromped down the hallway. I was a little nervous for a few minutes, but then she reappeared with what had to be all her undergarments and various other items from her dresser. After shoving all my stuff into two of the drawers, she settled her stuff into the other two, slammed the drawer shut, and climbed into bed. She never said a word as she did it, but the intention was clear—she had moved in to stay. And I had figured out a huge piece of the puzzle that is Rosalind Palmer and her lack of relationship skills.
All that complete, it appears we have an actual room for the baby. It still needs to be decorated, but I think we’ve both been in avoidance mode on that part. Me, because I’m not good at decorating and don’t want to make any decisions without her. Her, probably because she’s overwhelmed. More than once I’ve caught her with a deer-in-the-headlights look when anything remotely close to pregnancy, childbirth, or being a parent comes up in conversation. She doesn’t think I notice, but I do. I just don’t say anything about it knowing once a deer unfreezes, they run. I don’t want Rosalind’s “fight or flight” to kick in.
Just the other day, Abel was bitching about having to help his girls do their science fair projects, and I swear Rosalind turned green. I made quick work of figuring out where the nearest trash can was, in case I needed to grab it to catch her barf.
Fortunately, the conversation moved on to something else and the moment passed. But the look on her face kind of haunts me, to be honest. I knew this massive life change was going to be hard, but I don’t think I fully appreciated exactly how much fear Rosalind is hiding until then. Just another piece to the puzzle I’m fitting together.
Unless it’s too important to avoid, for instance, making sure I know when doctor’s appointments are, I try sticking to non-baby topics, like the fact that the Strongman competition is one month away.
Fortunately for me, the event happens to fall on the same day as Rosalind’s baby shower, which she keeps referring to as the “Day of Judgement for having premarital sex.”
Knowing there will likely be a few extra rosaries tossed her way that day, I’m more excited than I should be to have a valid reason for not going. Not that I needed one. I’m almost positive Elliott said no men were allowed. And even if she didn’t say that, it would still be my excuse. Ask for forgiveness instead of permission, right?
With so many things coming up in the next thirty days, the one thing we haven’t been able to avoid is baby shopping. I tried really hard to get out of it. I’m pretty sure Rosalind did too, but I put in extra effort to stay home. I hate shopping for myself when I have opinions on what I want, and since I genuinely don’t care what color comforter the baby has, this is extra painful. Plus, he still won’t show us his genitals, so it’s not like I can shop for appropriate toys anyway. Call me misogynistic if you want, but I’m allowed to dream of my little boy being a football player and my little girl being a princess, and I’d like to know which one I should be investing in right now. Until they’re old enough to tell me otherwise, I’m just going with the kinds of toys I know. So, excuse me for not wanting to shop for baby items I’m not even going to get to play with… I mean buy.
“Whhhhyyyyyy do I have to come with you to do this?” I whine for the umpteenth time, as I follow Rosalind through the sliding doors of whatever store this is. I didn’t bother looking at the sign. As soon as she said “baby store,” I had a single moment of pride for her ability to face the music before my brain melted.
“Because this is your baby, too, so you get to suffer right along with me,” she reminds me yet again. “And because we have less than two months until this kid gets here, and we have nothing except the baby Yoda plush you found at the corner store and the baby blanket Nonna knitted for us.”
“That was for the baby?” I’m trying to figure out how the yarn monstrosity could possibly have been intended for a seven-pound child to use.
Rosalind looks over her shoulder at me, brows furrowed. “What did you think it was for?”
“Honestly, I thought she forgot to stop knitting. It’s so big, it can go on a king-sized bed and still drag on the floor. Seriously, Rosalind, that thing is huge. If we wrapped the baby up in it, we’d never find him again.”
“That’s why we put it away until the baby is old enough to use it.”
“Better hope he turns into a giant eventually. And that we don’t have moths while we wait.” We round a corner and I realize we’re walking straight through the store, not even stopping to actually shop. “Where are we going anyway?”
“The lady on the phone said the place to register is in the very back. Oh, see?” She points to a “Baby Registration” sign dangling from the ceiling.
“We don’t need to register for a baby. We already have one.”
“Nice try, but you still aren’t getting out of this. We’re registering for the baby shower. Now, take a seat while we wait for the nice lady.”
Rosalind and I both drop into identical black leather office chairs. The desk in front of us seems really out of place amongst what is likely hundreds of cribs of all shapes and sizes and even more options in baby décor. There are elephants and giraffes and clowns and whales, standard stripes and checkerboard, and what I think might be called gingham, but I’m not that well versed in patterns and fabric. It is equally impressive and overwhelming that we have to choose from all these options. My great-great-grandmother didn’t know how good she had it when she shoved her babies in a drawer and c
alled it a crib.
“Hi! Are you guys here to register?” a chipper voice asks as the owner of said voice carefully lowers herself into the chair across from us. She is blonde and buxom, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure Rosalind is already contemplating throat punching her because of how big her smile is.
“Yeah, um, I have an appointment. Rosalind Palmer?”
Miss Chipper, who has no ring on her finger, so I feel confident in calling her that, begins typing away on her computer. “Oh yes. Right here. Baby Palmer-Marshall.”
Surprised and oddly delighted, I turn to Rosalind. “You put my last name on the registration?”
In the surly tone she almost always uses when she’s uncomfortable, she gives me the answer I should have expected. “I already told you, you’re not getting out of this. And if you ever try, I’ve already got a paper trail with your name on it.”
I laugh out loud because she’s just so damn amusing when she acts all tough and pissy. Not that I doubt for one second she’d drag my ass to court and take me for everything I’m worth if I ever tried to ditch our kid. But still, she’s funny.
Miss Chipper on the other hand, is slightly less amused. She actually looks a bit afraid. Oh well. Maybe her fear will get us out of here faster.
Clearing her throat, she begins pulling supplies out of the desk drawer. “Have you ever registered with us before?”
“No. This is our first time of registering anywhere, actually,” Rosalind says, using a much kinder tone on her than she did on me.
“Okay. Well, here is a list of instructions on how to use the scanners.” She slides a paper and pen across the desk. “If you’ll read through that and sign at the bottom. Basically, it says you won’t break the scanners, and if you do, you’ll pay for them.” Her eyes shift over to mine quickly as if I’m the one she needs to worry about. I’ve never once dropped my weapon during laser tag. This doesn’t look much different.
“Sounds reasonable,” I chime in, ignoring her rudeness. “Are they hard to use?”
“Oh no. Just point and shoot. But you’d be surprised how many people have a hard time figuring them out.”
I actually wouldn’t. Harriet and Edna couldn’t figure out how to speed walk around the track the other day without running into each other. No way would they figure out a scanner gun.
Once the paper is signed, she hands us the scanner and, suddenly, shopping doesn’t sound so daunting after all. Rosalind grabs a map of the store and we head on our way to put some items on our registry.
I put my arm around her and pull her close. “I wonder if we could play laser tag in the aisles,” I whisper in Rosalind’s ear, so Miss Chipper doesn’t overhear. “That sounds way more fun than deciding which of these cribs to get.”
Rosalind laughs and I love knowing I got her out of her head long enough to make it happen. “I agree, but we’ve been delaying this trip for a month. Getting one more phone call from my mother bitching about how none of her friends know what we want isn’t worth putting it off any longer.”
I grunt my response understanding her concern. I was the unlucky recipient of Mona’s wrath when Rosalind finally had enough and gave her my phone number as well. Looks like we’re stuck shopping.
“I don’t get why there are so many cribs to choose from.” I run my hand across the cherrywood hand railing of a baby bed that looks good enough to me. Maybe we can just scan this one and move on. “Aren’t they all basically the same?”
“I have no idea. I finally tried looking online to interpret all the different options, but I could never make heads or tails of any of it, so I gave up. The only thing I do know is we don’t want this one.”
“Why?”
She holds up the price tag.
“Fifteen hundred bucks?” I accidentally yell. “Holy shit! Is this thing made of gold?”
I turn as a throat clears behind me. Miss Chipper’s face is pinched, and I’ve clearly done something wrong. “Mr. Marshall, please remember this is a children’s store.”
I shake my head slightly, not understanding what she’s trying to say and not in the mood to read between the lines after having such a shock to my system over what kind of racket these baby bed companies have going on.
She huffs and rolls her eyes. “Please watch your language. Some of our patrons don’t want their kids exposed to those kinds of words.”
“Oh shit, sorry,” I respond and immediately realize I did it again. “I mean, oh shoot.”
She gives me a tight smile and goes back to her work. Rosalind, on the other hand, is not trying very hard to hide her enjoyment in the situation.
“Ooooh…. You got in troubllllllllle.”
I fling my arm around her shoulder again and pull her as close as her belly will allow. She doesn’t resist, only laughs and falls in line with me as we head to a less surveilled part of the room, which I admit to liking a lot. I don’t need eyes on me while I gasp over these prices. “You hush. You are just as much to blame.”
“What? What did I do?”
“You shouldn’t have flashed me that price tag. Miss Chipper is lucky I didn’t drop an f-bomb.”
“Miss Chipper?”
“That’s what I was calling her in my head before I was reprimanded. I’m kind of wishing I picked a different nickname now.”
Rosalind slaps me lightly on the chest and proceeds to drag me around the store, looking for things we’ll need.
We spend close to an hour trying to figure out what is an actual necessity, what’s going to get shoved in a closet only to be forgotten about, what half the stuff actually does, and what color any of it should be. That one ended up being easy—we decided on green. It seems the most gender neutral but isn’t ugly. That was the only easy decision.
And still, after sixty long minutes of reading boxes and instructions, we have officially registered for a stroller, a car seat that very well may be the wrong size, and pacifiers.
That’s it.
Our baby is never going to survive with us as parents.
We end up back at our starting point—in the middle of zillions of cribs.
“Well, I’ll never get that hour of my life back,” Rosalind says as she drops her bag on the floor, carefully contorts her body into a bending-over position so she can riffle around inside it, and pulls out a hairband. She has no idea how hot I find it when she pulls her hair up into a messy bun. Not only does her dark hair contrast nicely against the creamy skin of her neck, but it also makes her boobs stick out with her arms raised like that. These days, they’re bigger than they were. I have no complaints.
I bet Miss Chipper would have a stroke if she knew about the visual images going through my brain right now in her kids’ store.
Dropping her hands to rub her belly once her hair is secure, she adds, “Do you feel as annoyed as I do by all this crap? Can’t there just be one option of everything to make it easy?”
“Or maybe an aisle that labeled ‘you will definitely need this’ next to the aisle marked ‘you might need this, so come back later if you do.’”
“Ohmigod yes. That would make things so much easier.”
“I still have no idea what crib we need to zap, but after looking around at all this themed stuff, can we agree on one thing?”
“What’s that?”
“No clowns. None. Ever. We are not scaring our baby that way.”
Rosalind laughs and replies with “agreed” before reaching down to grab her bag off the floor. At least I thought that’s what she was doing until she suddenly peeks over the headboard and belts out, “Think fast!” then points the scanner right at me in laser tag fashion.
On instinct, I dive for the floor, then do what’s supposed to be a ninja roll away, but I’m sure it looks more like a belly flop. Safely hidden behind something that is labeled a 3-in-1 convertible bed, whatever that means, I quickly stand and shoot at Rosalind who attempts to ducks down with a shrieking laugh. She fails miserably.
I do another ninja rol
l-slash-duck walk and secure my position behind what I think is either a changing table or a cart for tools in the garage. With this many drawers, it could go either way. I listen momentarily, trying to decipher where Rosalind is, when I hear soft footsteps and I know I’ve got her.
Standing quickly, I point the gun right at her, a smile on my face. A smile that drops almost immediately when I realize it’s not my baby mama, but Miss Chipper. And she is not amused. But in true professional form, she pastes a very fake smile on her face and slowly takes the scanner out of my hand.
“I’m more than happy to help you two decide what items you’d like to add to your registry. It’s part of my job to make sure our customers have a…” She pauses and searches for a word that accurately reflects her thoughts without coming right out and saying we’re annoying the shit out of her. “… productive experience. Why don’t we start right where we’re at and build your nursery from here?” Turning away from me and to face Rosalind, who looks about at shell-shocked as I feel, she asks, “Do you know if you’re having a boy or a girl?”
Rosalind just shakes her head, no words coming out of her mouth.
“A surprise baby. Those are always fun.” Miss Chipper seems to relax a bit, which is great for her, but not so good for Rosalind, who has gone from carefree to so tense her glutes are going to be hard as rocks if she doesn’t stop clenching so hard. “Now, what kind of theme have you decided on?”
“No clowns.” Rosalind and I say it in unison. I smirk at her because I can’t help feeling like we’re starting to get on the same page. It’s us and our baby against the world. Or at least against small retail tyrants.
Miss Chipper sighs deeply and with clear exasperation. I’m almost positive when she clocked in this morning, she wasn’t planning on spending half her day with a couple of clueless parents-to-be.
She should have just left us to our laser tag. Instead, she escorts us around the building, pointing out items we will likely need and giving us the merits of each one. Who knew there were different-sized bottle nipples depending on how old the baby is? I sure didn’t.
Weights of Wrath (Cipher Office Book 4) Page 16
