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When Taylor announces that she’s pregnant, Belly’s first reaction is to blurt out, “Fuck, how early are you? We can get you a pill, or schedule an abortion with Planned Parenthood if you’re too far along.”
It’s ten o’clock in the morning on a Saturday, and they’re sitting in Taylor’s car in a dark garage. It’s insane how much time passes by and some things never change. Belly’s in the passenger seat, and Taylor’s fixing her lip liner in the mirror of her sun visor. A sight Belly has known for most of her life. They’ll be sixty and still girls together.
“Belly!” She outright cackles, capping her lip pencil, Charlotte Tilbury in the color Icon Baby. She shoves it back into her bag. “Thank you, obviously, for having my back 100%, but I’m keeping the baby.”
“You’re keeping the baby.” she repeats, not processing it. Belly blanches. “But…but you never wanted to have kids.”
There are many things Taylor Jewel has curated, planned, and meticulously executed with verve and undeniable patience: her first kiss, her first boyfriend, her bachelorette party, and her wedding, all before the age of eight. Her first kiss was at the age of nine, with the cutest boy in their grade, Arthur Krishnan, and it was during a carefully planned truth or dare game at her co-ed birthday party. Then her first boyfriend was the broody, hot guy two grades above them, Thorn Nelson. Belly isn’t even sure that’s his real first name. But Taylor came to one of his tennis games wearing her sluttiest top, and he took one look at her and asked her out. And, of course, being her maid of honor was the easiest thing in the world. For Belly, mostly. To everyone else, Taylor was a verifiable bridezilla, straight off WE tv.
But what Taylor never wanted was kids.
Belly knows Taylor and her mom are basically best friends, but Taylor’s parented her mom more often than not. Lucinda will forget to pay utilities, or she’ll be so caught up in her new boyfriend that she’ll forget to eat.
I feel like I’ve already raised someone, Taylor told her once, and it’s not fucking fun.
Belly remembers Taylor’s first pregnancy scare. She has been on birth control for years, and her periods are so light, she’s only spotting on the sugar pill week. When her period never came and she felt nauseous in the morning, Taylor called Belly in the middle of the night, frantic. She and Steven were broken up, and she was dating some guy Belly couldn’t even remember. Belly calmed her down. They bought three different pregnancy tests at the 24/7 CVS, and they went next door to the empty self-serve laundromat to work it out. Belly offered to be there with her in the restroom, but Taylor cracked a joke and said, I love you, Cinderbelly, but if you see me pee on some sticks I’ll throw up.
So Belly sat atop a washing machine, legs dangling, and waited. They set timers for all of them, placing them on a paper towel three feet away. Time ticks down.
I don’t want to have kids, Taylor said as she sat right next to her. Her feet kicked out, listless.
Ever? Belly asked.
Raising another me sounds like a fucking nightmare. Taylor looked tired under the fluorescent lights. My mom is hard enough to manage. And that’s coming from me. Like, I love managing things, you know?
Belly snorts. I know.
You’ll probably have a brood of children and a white picket fence. Taylor scoffs. A dog or a cat or both. You’ll be a great mom. Like, you’re kinda chill and anal at the same time, no offense.
None taken. Belly didn’t like thinking about the future. The last time she thought about having kids, she was sixteen and believed her last name would be Fisher, and her husband would be the brother she wasn’t currently dating. She tried to picture it—her and Jeremiah’s kid, but her mind was a blank slate. Tabula rasa.
The timer went off. Do you want me to check? she asked and hopped off before Taylor could answer.
Thanks, she said quietly.
Negative, negative, negative. Belly stood between Taylor’s legs.
Taylor had her hands covering her face. What’s the damage? she asked, muffled through her fingers.
Congrats, Belly said, you’re not pregnant!
Taylor sagged in relief. Oh my God.
She got her period the next day.
Now, almost a decade from that day, a twenty-eight-year-old Taylor shrugs. “But I want to have Steven’s kids. It’s different.”
Belly sounds like a broken clock as she echoes Taylor, “It’s different.” Her brows furrow. “Did you and Steven even talk about kids before you got married?”
“Duh, of course.” She throws Belly a surprised look. “He said it’s ultimately my decision because it’s my body, but he’d be fine if I never wanted kids or if I wanted them and that were both stable enough in our jobs to afford kids, and I told him I never planned on having them, and he was really normal about everything.”
Belly blinks. “Oh. Steven said that? Really?” She wrinkles her nose. That’s surprisingly adult of him. Sometimes, it fully shocks her that Steven grew up. That he’s not that lanky, annoying older brother who used to steal her favorite muffins and drop her in a pool. Well, he still does the last one. “Weird.”
Taylor laughs. “I missed my period last month, and I didn’t even worry. I was, like, if this happens, then it happens. And it’s happening.” She softens. “It’s just—a few years ago, I saw him with his coworker’s baby. We were at one of his company parties.” She waves her hand as if to say, you know those things, as though she doesn’t help plan them to perfection. “He held her the entire night, and she was so in love with him. He was so gentle with her and so funny.” Taylor smiles. “And I remember thinking it wouldn’t be so bad if we had one of those. A mini Conklin running around.” She pushes her shoulder against Belly’s. Lays her head on her arm. “And you know me. I really fucking love Conkins.”
Belly lets out a soft laugh, and she doesn’t realize she’s crying until Taylor lifts her head up and wipes at her face.
“Girl, don’t,” Taylor warns. “Or you’ll make me cry.” But she’s already tearing up.
They both giggle at their reactions. Belly says, “Oh my God, you’re gonna be a mom.” Taylor nods. “Oh my God, Steven’s gonna be a dad.”
Taylor’s face cracks into a grin. “You’re gonna be an aunt.”
With that, Belly fully bursts into tears. She hugs Taylor so tightly but so tenderly, she feels like her heart is about to split open. Her stomach bends into the console and they move so haphazardly that Taylor’s elbow bumps into the horn, and the sound makes them jump apart and laugh.
Taylor dabs her sleeve against her face. “I’m really scared, Belly. I don’t know if I’ll be a good mom, you know. But I want to do this, I really do.” She covers her mouth, careful not to smear her lips. She breathes shakily. “I want Steven to be a dad so badly. He’s so ready for it.”
Belly clutches Taylor’s hand. “You guys will be perfect.” They both sniffle. “And if your kid’s being annoying, you can just send them to me and Conrad.”
Taylor squeezes her hand then lets go.
They spend the rest of the day together, just girls terrorizing the town.
When Belly finally stumbles back home later than she intended with the sky pitch black for a good few hours, Conrad kisses her and takes her bags and lines her shoes up at the entryway.
“Taylor’s having a baby,” she blurts out. “Steven will probably call you tomorrow about it when she tells him.”
Conrad fixes his glasses. There’s light stubble on his jaw that Belly absolutely adores and won’t let him shave off for anything in the whole, wide world. Thirty is such a good look on him.
“Oh, wow.” His eyes widen. “Jesus. Parents.”
“I know.”
“Wow,” he says again, blinking rapidly.
“I know!”
And in a second, Belly leaps into his arms. Conrad, used to her different modes of affection, holds her easily. She wraps her legs around his hips. “I’m an aunt.”
Conrad presses his lips to her jaw. “Mhm.”
“You’re an uncle.”
Belly can feel his smile. She leans back. He walks them to their bedroom. She slides off him and waits, waits—Conrad grabs a sleep shirt for her (his, worn, soft) and places it on the bed. She starts unbuttoning her top, and he bats her hand away and does it for her. He undresses her with skillful familiarity. Top, off. Bra, unclasped. He kisses the skin where her heart beats. Skirt, unzipped. She steps over it, and slips on her sleep shirt. She puts her lips on his collarbone before she starts doing her nightly routine.
“Conrad,” she says, mouth full of toothpaste.
He rounds the corner and leans on the frame. “Yeah?”
Belly spits and wipes her mouth. “How many kids do you want?”
She sees the jolt running through him. He moves, muscles shifting. She knows every single one of his tells. He’s not surprised, but he’s alert.
“However many you want,” he shoots back.
She pouts. “That’s not an answer.”
“Belly.” He gives her a look. “You’ll be the one having to carry the baby for nine months.”
“Okay,” she says, nodding. “But don’t think about that. Just picture yourself as a dad. In the future, in your mind, how many kids do you have?”
Conrad doesn’t say anything for a few, long seconds.
“Two.” He half-smiles. “We have two.”
Belly grins. Great minds think alike. Just like Susannah and her mom. Two kids each. One boy and one girl would be perfect, but she wouldn’t mind any combination. As long as they’re part him and part her, they’ll be perfect either way. She closes the gap between them and kisses him. Their kiss tastes minty fresh and sweet. She sighs happily as they break apart, noses brushing.
“You’ll be a wonderful dad,” she murmurs, knowing he’ll cave, knowing he’ll ruin his normal plan to sleep at a reasonable time during his day off to be with her.
His hands come around her and lift her up. Conrad carries her to bed, and she giggles as she props herself up on her elbows. He falls into her, and she falls into him.
They’ll make babies all night long. Who knows, maybe Taylor and Steven will become an aunt and an uncle soon, too.