Jordan looked on with his wife. “There’s an app?”
Barry shrugged. “There’s an app for everything. Here, give me your phones. My job is to get you all uploaded and Battle of the Births ready—at least, with the tech side.”
“Is this a virtual reality parent training center?” Jordan asked, glancing at the vast space as a cameraman in a CityBeat T-shirt hung back and filmed their entrance.
“That’s right,” Lenny said, emerging from behind a frosted glass door in non-hobo attire.
“We’re not only the hottest musical duo on the toddler scene. We’re also making the baby prep experience high-tech,” Stu offered, following close behind, and also not dressed like a hobo.
Jordan almost didn’t recognize them.
“Take a look. We have access to everyone’s feed,” Lenny said, holding out an iPad.
It all made sense now. That man rocking side to side was holding a virtual baby. A woman who looked like she was kneading imaginary dough was changing a diaper.
“That’s amazing,” Georgie said, her gaze bouncing from the screen to the actual humans moving awkwardly in clear boxes.
“And I see you’ve got your infant care simulation doll. Good, good!” Stu said.
“Yep, and Faby is safe and sound and in one piece,” Jordan answered, grateful Mr. Tuesday hadn’t chewed the fake kid’s arm off.
“That’s right! No baby shenanigans with Faby,” Georgie added with a toothpaste commercial smile.
Did they sound like used infant care simulation doll salespeople? Most likely, but it was better than having to explain that their dog had taken the doll on a wild romp through Denver.
“Who’s Faby?” Barry asked.
Jordan tapped the doll’s button nose. “This is Faby. It’s a fake baby, so, Faby.”
Lenny and Stu pursed their lips.
Were they not supposed to name the baby? Were they supposed to simply call it doll or plastic infant or child simulation? Those sounded clinical and drab. Faby had a nice ring to it.
“Most expectant parents name their infant care simulation doll,” Lenny supplied with a crease between his brows.
“That’s what we did,” Georgie answered.
The man’s crease deepened. “Usually, a real name like Tony or Claire.”
He and Georgie stared at Faby, who looked nothing like a Tony or a Claire.
“But Faby works,” the good-natured Stu offered, sharing a quick glance with his partner.
“And the app works,” Barry added, handing them their phones. “The app will show you your standing in the competition. You earn points for all your correct choices in the simulator. It’s like a video game.”
“The app also integrates with your infant care simulation doll. It’s slick baby tech, that’s for sure,” Lenny added.
Now it was his wife with a crease between her brows. “There’s an app for fake babies?”
He met Georgie’s gaze and shrugged. He was lost, too.
“It’s a lot to take in. Do your best. I’ll take Faby, and Lenny will get you situated in a simulation cubicle,” Stu explained.
“Where will you put Faby?” Georgie asked, eyeing the man.
“In the infant care simulation nursery,” Stu said, then opened the frosted glass door to reveal a child’s playroom filled with dolls.
Jordan leaned in and lowered his voice. “That’s a little creepy, right?”
“It’s better than putting Faby back in the bag,” she countered.
True.
“Come with me. We’re going to put you through a simulation to test your parenting abilities,” Lenny said, leading them down a hallway.
“Are all these people competing in the Battle of the Births?” Georgie asked.
“They sure are. We’ve got eleven couples taking part in the challenge.”
“What does the winner get?” Jordan asked, working to keep his nerves in check. This was not the Baby 101, sit down and listen to a lecture he was expecting.
Lenny paused. “A baby…and bragging rights, I suppose.”
Bragging rights?
That revelation brought out the competitive streak in him, and his face must have shown it because his wife immediately flashed simmer-down-asshat eyes at him.
She’d crowned him the Emperor of Asshattery, and sometimes, his royal jackass-ed-ness reared its regal head.
“If I’m hearing you right, the scores will indicate if we’re complete parenting nightmares,” he replied, half-joking, but Lenny didn’t laugh.
The baby expert opened the glass door and gestured for them to enter the room. “Do your best, and we’ll go from there.”
“No singing vagabonds today?” Georgie asked, her voice rising an octave.
“We don’t sing on simulation days,” Lenny replied, stone-cold serious.
“Sure, that makes sense,” his wife answered, her voice still lingering in anxious octave land.
Clearly, these men did not mess around when it came to baby prep.
Note to self: Lenny and Stu dressed as jaunty drifters were all bright smiles and singing in the rain.
Lenny and Stu in button-ups and khakis were no bullshit baby busters.
“Put on the VR headsets. The system will count you down before the simulation begins. Good luck,” the man directed before shutting the door.
Georgie looked from side to side at the couples talking and moving around their clear boxes.
“This must be what it’s like for lab rats.”
“Yeah, kind of weird, but also pretty cool.” He picked up the headset. “VR is becoming popular in fitness. They’ve got virtual reality workout regimens. And one of my clients in construction told me the other day that they use it for figuring out plumbing on large-scale projects.”
Georgie eyed the headset. “Let’s not flush a VR baby down a virtual toilet.”
Or allow a virtual dog to take it on a virtual jaunt about town.
His wife put on the headset and gasped. “Wow! You’ve got to see this,” she said, waving her hands.
He followed suit and blinked as a virtual Georgie stood in front of him.
He looked around. “Are we in a grocery store?”
“It sure seems like it,” virtual Georgie answered when a woman’s robotic voice piped in.
“Five, four, three, two, one. Commence simulation.”
Ping.
He damn near fell over when Faby appeared out of nowhere and floated between them.
“Holy—” he began, about to drop a string of expletives when the VR version of his wife pressed her hand to his virtual mouth, and strangely, it silenced him.
“It’s a video game. I think we grab the baby,” Georgie said, pointing to the levitating child.
“Here goes.” He reached out, and while his fingers grasped nothing but air, he now held a cooing Faby in the simulation.
“Hello, Faby, the best fake baby around!” he said to the VR infant, then turned to Georgie. “This isn’t so bad,” he added, but he’d spoken too soon.
Just as the words left his mouth, the Faby’s content expression disappeared, and the infant released a piercing wail, booming into his ears through the headset’s speakers.
“Grocery Store Simulation. You must purchase all the groceries on your list while also meeting your child’s needs,” came the robot lady’s voice over the howling Faby.
“We’ve got to figure out how to calm down this video game Faby,” he exclaimed.
“Bounce or sway. Move around. See if that helps,” VR Georgie suggested.
He danced around, springing from foot to foot, but the baby wasn’t having it.
“It’s not working, Georgie!”
VR Georgie grabbed a shopping cart, and a virtual list popped up.
Okay! This had to be a good sign. They were making progress.
“We’re supposed to shop. Try putting Faby in the cart,” she suggested.
He attempted to place the infant in the kiddie seat of the shopp
ing cart, but the program kept resetting and dangling the crying infant in the air.
“Why won’t they let us put the baby in the cart?” he asked, frustration mounting.
Virtual Georgie shrugged. “I don’t know. Do you think we’re supposed to carry the baby?”
He plucked the hovering Faby and tried to move forward, but with every step, the simulation sent him back to the beginning.
“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, Georgie,” he said, anxiety coursing through his body as the child’s unrelenting cry threatened to burst his eardrums.
“Sanitizer!” VR Georgie called out, plucking a wipe from a dispenser and virtually cleaning the cart’s handle and the baby seatbelt buckle.
Jesus! This had to work otherwise—high-tech dream equipment or not—he was ready to chuck this VR headset into next week.
“Try now,” she said.
He walked over to the VR cart and gingerly slipped the baby into the seat and buckled the little belt.
“Bingo!” he cried as the wailing Faby digitally switched to happy Faby.
“That was intense!” Georgie said as they pushed the cart down the virtual aisle, and very non-virtual sweat trailed down his back.
Holy Faby wails! It was one thing to hear a kid cry at the store. But when it’s your own kid—even your own virtual kid—it flipped a switch inside that had adrenaline drilling through his veins.
“Let’s get our bearing’s, and then we can work on the grocery list,” Georgie said when a timer appeared in his line of vision.
“Are you seeing this?” he asked.
“The clock? Yeah, it’s set to five minutes.”
“Is that how long we have to shop?” he asked.
“Five minutes to diaper blowout,” came the robot lady’s monotone voice.
“A diaper blowout?” he repeated.
They stared at VR Faby, who had stopped crying, but now looked as if it were contemplating Einstein’s theory of relativity.
Oh shit! Literally, oh shit!
“I’m pretty sure this baby is going to take a massive dump in.” He glanced at the countdown. “In less than four minutes.”
“We have less than four minutes to shop for ten items, or else the baby will poop all over?” Georgie replied, her voice back in the freak-out octave.
“That’s my best guess, babe. Look at Faby’s face.”
The VR baby scrunched into a pruny expression as it stared into space.
“What’s the first item?” Georgie pressed.
“Milk.”
“Almond, soy, cow, or oat?” his wife rattled off.
“I don’t think it matters.” He looked around and spotted a dairy case. “There, to the right.”
They booked it through the virtual store, and VR Georgie touched a jug labeled milk.
Ping.
“Objective met. Proceed to the next item,” chimed the eerily calm robot.
“We need bread,” he answered, checking the virtual list.
“White, wheat, rye, pumpernickel, potato, or raisin?” his wife listed off like she was the spokesperson for the world of bread.
“Just like the milk, I don’t think it matters,” he said as they steered the cart toward the virtual bakery.
Georgie swatted a loaf on a high shelf.
Ping.
“Objective met. Proceed to the next item.”
“Gherkins?” he said, staring at the weird word.
What the hell was a gherkin?
“It’s a fancy pickle!” Georgie exclaimed, reading his mind.
“Pickles should be with condiments,” he replied, then did a quick Faby check. The kid was still contemplating the meaning of life.
Okay! They could do this!
“But it doesn’t say pickle. It says gherkin. Maybe they’re back in the produce section in a refrigerated case,” Georgie replied.
He shook his head. “Everything in this store is pretty cut and dry. Bread, milk…”
“But the list says gherkin,” VR Georgie interjected, waving her digital arms.
She was right, but it didn’t matter.
“Three, two, one. Diaper blowout,” came the robot lady’s calm voice.
They stared at the digital Faby, who seemed quite content.
“I think we should keep shopping. The kid seems okay,” he said when three distinct pings pulsed through his headset and…
Sweet Montezuma!
Like a breached dam, a brown substance burst from Faby’s diaper, flowing like a roaring river.
“Faby! No!” Georgie cried, lifting the virtual infant from the cart, only to have the VR crap shoot out in all directions.
He couldn’t move. The virtual Jordan Marks watched in horror as Faby spewed poop like a brown Niagara Falls.
“Twinkle, twinkle…” Virtual Georgie began to sing.
“What are you doing?” he called.
“Trying to stop the blowout!”
“With a song?”
“Do you have a better idea?” she cried, rocking the baby from side to side as an ungodly amount of virtual poop roared out of the VR infant.
“Here, pass me the baby,” he cried, reaching through the curtain of brown when everything went black, and a voice called to him from the virtual baby beyond.
“Simulation terminated. Status: failure.”
9
Georgie
“Babe, say something!”
Georgie stared at her husband—her real husband, not the digital version. He stood in front of her, holding both of their headsets. She looked from side to side, then gazed at her hands. Relief, that wasn’t brown or shooting out of a baby with the furious force of a firehose, washed over her.
“Thank God we’re not covered in virtual baby diarrhea!” she said, the words tumbling out like…oh, forget it! Enough with the poop talk!
“That was…” her husband began.
“Intense,” she finished as Jordan nodded, looking as shell-shocked as she felt.
The plexiglass door swung open, and Lenny and Stu rushed in, then headed toward a tower of servers in the corner of the room.
“Sorry about the diaper glitch. We thought the developers had worked that kink out,” the tall Lenny said, opening up a laptop, then plugging it into the server.
Stu nodded. “You’re our first couple to do the grocery store simulation, and we sure weren’t expecting that.”
“Yeah, neither were we,” Jordan said, placing the headsets back on their respective hooks.
“Do babies do that?”
Georgie turned to see a white-faced Barry standing in the doorway. Wide-eyed, he stared at his iPad.
“You saw all that?” she asked.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to un-see it,” the man replied, his gaze locked on the screen.
“That makes two of us,” she said under her breath.
But it wasn’t the glitch that sent a shiver down her spine. Sure, she may never touch another VR headset for as long as she lived, but all she could hear was that judgmental robotic voice’s final word.
Failure.
It echoed. It resonated. Yes, the simulation had glitched, but she and Jordan weren’t exactly kicking ass and taking names at the digital market. Quite the opposite. She hadn’t even thought to decontaminate the shopping cart. It was dumb luck that she saw the wipe dispenser.
How many other things had she overlooked? How many baby dangers lurked in the light of day or the light of a virtual world that she didn’t recognize?
“I’m going to call it a day. I think I’ve gotten enough footage,” Barry said with a shudder.
“And I’d suggest turning off the replay feature,” Lenny offered.
The CityBeat producer grimaced, his eyes locked to the screen. “It’s like a train wreck. You can’t look away. And each time you go back, you see some other freaky part.”
“We’ll talk to you later, Barry,” she called.
The man zombie-walked to the exit as the audio of her
shrieking wafted back to them.
She might not know what to do with a pooping baby in a grocery store, but she did know one thing. She sure as hell didn’t want to watch their video. It was bad enough living through it. She didn’t need the postcard, picture, or the replay.
Stu gestured toward the door. “How about we go somewhere more comfortable and do a debrief.”
She’d prefer an appointment with a hypnotherapist to see if the memory of their simulation could be scraped from her brain. However, she had a sneaking suspicion that the little poop nugget of a recollection would be locked in her noggin for life.
Jordan wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into her husband as they followed Lenny and Stu out of the simulation area.
“Do you feel all right? That was pretty jarring,” he asked, keeping his voice low.
She sighed. “Surprisingly, no nausea after that catastrophe.”
He stroked her arm. “Do you think it was a catastrophe?”
She glanced up at him, cocked her head to the side, and gave him wife-eyes.
He gave her a defeated nod. “Yeah, you’re right. Even without the crap glitch, it was a catastrophe. We were a mess in there.”
They were. Granted, watching a virtual baby levitate in the air probably would have thrown even the most seasoned parent off their game. But she and Jordan had gone into chicken-with-its-head-cut-off mode. No plan. No strategy. All panic.
Lenny opened the door to the infant care simulation nursery, and they settled themselves at a table in the center of the room. She was grateful to leave the glass box, but her husband was right. A baby doll daycare was creepy.
They’d grown used to Faby staring at them. But to have ten other pairs of doll eyes boring into them hit somewhere along the lines of a B-level horror movie.
“We always like to start with a couple’s strengths and go from there,” Stu began, but the look he shared with Lenny wasn’t encouraging.
“Stu’s correct. It’s always good to start with the strengths,” Lenny reiterated.
A glimmer of hope flickered in her heart. Perhaps it wasn’t as bad as she’d thought.
“What were our strengths?” she asked, ready to glean some knowledge off these child development experts.
“You both did a great job navigating the headset,” Lenny answered.
Own the Eights Maybe Baby Page 12
