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“Make sure you put your feet up; you're not gonna get any rest when the little grub is born! Rover”
“Congratulations lovely. I hope you're both enjoying this exciting time, and that Peter is spoiling you something rotten!”
“Gonna miss you at the office, but now's a great time to binge watch all your favourite shows before your life changes forever love Sandy xoxo”
Wendy took a sharp inhale through her nose as she skimmed through all the handwritten sentiments scrawled into her farewell card. She knew her colleagues meant well, and it wasn't their fault they weren't aware of her ‘personal circumstances’. But right now, with the boxes stacked high in the hallway and the divorce papers littered across the dining table, she didn't need any further reminders of all the ways her life was about to change.
Wendy resisted the urge to rip the greeting card into confetti and throw the scraps into the fire. Instead she placed it safely back in its envelope and set it aside. She would stick it into her baby’s memory book later. Once she was done washing all the onesies and muslin and bibs. Oh, and assembling the flatpack changing table. Wendy hoped he hadn’t packed his tools yet.
It was getting harder to keep moving. Baby was head down and her pelvis was screaming. But stopping wasn't an option. Not when there was a litre of bechamel sauce to be made.
Luckily the cool kitchen tiles provided some relief. Peter had insisted on importing them from Italy at great expense. When Wendy was feeling her most uncharitable she imagined her soon-to-be ex-husband stopping by with a chisel to lift the astronomically expensive slabs of porcelain from under her feet. He had already staked his claim on the dining table. As if the antique silky oak set would fit into his sleek New Farm apartment. She took another deep breath, attempting to clear her mind like a cloth across a white board.
She could make a roux with her eyes closed. But still she applied herself to her task mindfully, counting every stir of her spoon as she watched the butter and flour combine. And when an unhelpful emotion or uncharitable thought made itself known, she made sure to drown it out with milk. And singing.
Because at least with Peter gone, she could sing as loud as she wanted. Wendy still remembered some of the old music hall numbers her grandmother played on the antique gramophone. One particular song came to mind as she watched the white sauce bubble and thicken.
“Jolly good luck to the girl that loves a soldier. Girls - have you been there?” she sang aloud, earning herself a little nudge in the rib from her unborn pup. She continued, reaching for the pepper grinder. “You know we military men always do our duty everywhere.” She twisted the grinder aggressively as bitter memories of Peter’s frequent ‘business trips’ rose to the surface.
How had she willfully ignored the signs for so long?
Still, she kept singing, though the tongue-in-cheek lyrics now hit much closer to home than they ever did as a pup. She was rewarded with more wriggles and nudges from within, and stopped to cradle her belly. “My sweet girl,” Wendy murmured, suddenly flooded with hope, gratitude, and joy.
With the white sauce complete, all that was left was to assemble. With her five Pyrex rectangular containers in a row, layering the ragu, bechamel and sheets of pasta until each was full.
The Pyrex containers had been a wedding gift from Peter’s late Aunt Gladys. The chow chow had barely used them, reserving them strictly for special occasions. If someone had told her just a year ago that she would be handing them willingly to the neighbour who had fallen face first into her prized sherry trifle at Pat and Janelle’s housewarming party… well, she wouldn’t have believed them. Then again, becoming a single mum hadn’t exactly been on her bingo card either.
Pat helped Wendy carry the lasagnes around, cheerfully regaling her with stories of his toddler's escapades.
“Last week he somehow got into the shed! I had to call the compost company to check that he hadn’t swallowed anything toxic. It’s lucky we named him Lucky, I’ll tell ya that for free.” Pat chuckled as they approached the Heeler lawn, but his laughter faded when he caught Wendy’s alarmed expression. “I’m sure your kid won't play in the dirt,” he added, though his tone lacked conviction.
Wendy could hear a baby crying as she climbed the porch steps. She hesitated, her finger hovering over the doorbell. But Pat, balancing the stack of lasagnes, nodded encouragingly. Taking a steadying breath, she pressed the button.
The crying paused abruptly, only to resume moments later with renewed fervour. Wendy placed a hand on her belly, willing herself to stay calm. She’d read somewhere that babies could sense their mothers' emotions, and the last thing she wanted was for hers to feel her nerves.
Nearly a minute passed before a blurry figure appeared through the frosted glass of the door frame. Chilli.
Chilli looked every bit the new mum—her fur was sticking up in all directions, her eyes heavy with shadows, and her smile thin but genuine. Nestled snugly in a papoose on her chest was her tiny baby, no longer wailing but letting out soft, restless mewls. Wendy had only seen the baby once before, during a chance encounter with Bandit pounding the pavement with the pram. He’d looked like a dishevelled ghost, and she hadn’t lingered to coo over little Bluey. But now, seeing her up close, she was enchanted. Bluey was beautiful.
Wendy quickly tore her gaze away, worried she might seem rude.
“Wendy! Pat!” Chilli greeted them in a stage whisper, swaying on her toes as if the motion alone could soothe her child. She radiated exhaustion, her usual confidence replaced by an edge of frazzled anxiety. “If I’d known you were coming, I would’ve—”
“Just a flying visit,” Pat cut in cheerfully, saving her from having to finish the sentence. “Wendy’s made you some food.” He nodded toward the containers in his arms. “Where can I set these down?”
For a moment, Chilli blinked at him, dazed, as if the offer didn’t compute. Then she snapped into action. “Oh! In the kitchen, please. You know where it is, right? And, uh, just ignore the mess—I haven’t had time to tidy up.”
“Right-o,” Pat replied with a grin, whistling a jaunty tune as he disappeared into the house.
Left alone, Chilli turned her attention to Wendy, her gaze flickering to the pronounced curve of her belly.
“It’s my famous beef lasagne,” Wendy said quickly, her words tumbling out in a rush. “You just bake it at one-eighty for forty minutes—or an hour if it’s frozen.” She smiled nervously, feeling oddly self-conscious under Chilli’s tired but kind eyes.
For a heartbeat, Chilli said nothing, and Wendy feared she’d overstepped. Though Chilli and Bandit had lived next door for nearly a year, she and Wendy rarely crossed paths. Their lives seemed worlds apart, and aside from their shared experience of pregnancy, they seemed to have little common ground.
“Th-thank you,” Chilli managed, her voice wavering. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Wendy.”
Wendy exhaled in relief, but her breath caught as she noticed tears welling in Chilli’s eyes. “Oh, my goodness—are you alright, dear?” she asked softly, her concern genuine.
Before Chilli could answer, Pat’s footsteps thundered down the stairs, breaking the moment. Hastily, Chilli wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, her movements brisk and practiced.
“Right, I’d best get back to work, ladies!” Pat announced cheerily, breezing into the room. “But if you need anything, just give me a shout.”
Wendy watched him, unsure if he even noticed Chilli’s tears—or if he had, and decided to tactfully bow out.
“I’d better be going too,” Wendy said, feeling awkward without Pat as a buffer. “I hope you enjoy the lasagnes. And don’t worry about the baking dishes. I don’t need them back.” She turned to make a speedy exit, though at 38-weeks pregnant, “speedy” wasn’t exactly in her repertoire.
“Wait, Wendy!” Chilli’s voice stopped her, hoarse but urgent. “Why don’t you come in?” She nodded toward the tiny bundle nestled in the papoose, now inexplicably fast asleep. “I have no idea how long she’ll stay down, but let’s make the most of it. I’ll put the kettle on.”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly impose…” Wendy began, though her swollen ankles begged otherwise.
Chilli must have noticed her hesitation because she leaned in with a sly smile. “I have shortbread biscuits.”
Wendy’s resolve wavered instantly at the mention of her favourite treat. “Well, if you’re sure…”
Moments later, she found herself sinking into a plush armchair, grateful for the reprieve. She glanced around the house, admiring how sympathetically Bandit and Chilli had restored the old Queenslander’s charm.
“There’s one condition,” Chilli said, pushing a footrest toward Wendy. “I’ll need you to hold Bluey so I can carry everything. Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” Wendy replied, her voice filled with quiet awe as Chilli carefully transferred the sleeping baby into her arms. It was a little awkward maneuvering around her bump, but soon Bluey was nestled against her.
The baby stirred, her tiny eyes fluttering open, and Wendy braced for a cry. Instead, Bluey yawned, her small fist punching the air before she settled back down. Wendy exhaled, and almost immediately, the baby inside her belly sprang to life, kicking harder than she had in weeks.
“That’s my baby in there,” Wendy whispered to Bluey, her voice full of wonder. “Her name is Judo. And she can’t wait to meet you.”
Chilli’s footsteps approached, and Wendy looked up to see her neighbour smiling warmly, a tea tray balanced in her hands.
For the first time in months, Wendy felt truly at peace. The fear and uncertainty that had shadowed her since the divorce seemed to lift. She knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, especially as a single mother, but something had shifted.
Because her life was about to change. For the better.