Page 91 of Salty Pickle

He lets out a long sigh. “It doesn’t get any fresher than that.” Then he notices Court. “Is this the one you were headed toward on the subway that day?”

I glance at Court, who is sizing up the man with a sour expression I know well. I elbow him. “It is. We worked everything out.”

Stanley accepts Court’s glare with a beady-eyed stare of his own. “You take care of this young lady and her goat, or you’ll hear from me.”

Yikes. I’m not sure how Court will take that, but I’m surprised when he sticks out his hand in greeting. “I absolutely will, sir.”

They shake. “He’s all right by me, Lucy,” Stanley says, releasing Court to turn to his register. It opens with a ringing chime. “And here you go for your cheese.” He passes me cash. “I’ll be asking for more, but you might be busy by then.” He waves at my belly. “Whatcha got left? A couple weeks?”

“Eleven days until the due date. We have a sonogram tomorrow.” I take Court’s hand. “We’re going to confirm the gender.”

“Happy days. I remember those. I got two kids. Jeb and Johnny.” He thumbs at two young men in their early twenties, one sitting on a stool, and the other unpacking a box of New York commemorative spoons.

“They work for you!” I say, stealing a quick glance at Court to make sure he’s not triggered by more evidence of family job expectations.

“Just till they finish college.” Stanley sniffs in annoyance. “If I don’t fire them for incompetence first.”

I’m not sure how to respond to that, but I’m saved when the front door jingles and a flood of people come in.

“Four forty-five tour bus, right on the money,” Stanley says. “Got to do shoplifting patrol. I’ll be seeing you.” He pulls a small stuffed bear with a red, white, and blue T-shirt out of the bin next to the register. “For the kid. Good luck.”

I hold the teddy bear to my chest. “Thank you, Stanley.” I know it’s just a random bear from a tourist store, but it’s the first gift I’ve been given specifically for the baby.

Outside, the sidewalk is thick with people headed home from work.

“Is it really only eleven days?” Court asks.

“Give or take a week,” I say. “First babies are often late.”

“You don’t have anything. No clothes. No bottles. No diapers.” He seems stunned, like he’s putting all this information together in his head. “We should be assembling a crib, getting a swing. Do they still make swings? We’ll need a high chair. And baby food. And those weird nubby things they put in their mouths.”

I wrap my arms around one of his. “Hey, I’m simple. My baby will be simple. A few cloth diapers. Some onesies and soft blankets. I’ll be breastfeeding, and that’s all he’ll need at first. I’ll learn how to create a baby wrap from a long cloth. I bet I can even use a sheet.”

He stops dead. “Is that how you want to parent? Minimally?”

“Why not? Millions of babies were born and raised without fancy rocking machines or sterilizers or designer all-terrain strollers.”

“But don’t those things make it easier?”

“I don’t mind hard.”

Two costumed buskers head for us to offer pictures, so I move him forward before we’re mistaken for tourists. “But you’re right. I should probably pick up a few basics. I have some money.”

He stops again. “I have money.”

“But we don’t have the test yet. You want the test. I respect you wanting it.”

He turns me to face him. “What if I want you, and the baby is extra?”

Does he? Can he know that?

I don’t know that much about him, not how he ticks inside. Does he love hard and move on? Is he someone who can be counted on?

I peer up at him, a gusty breeze making his hair dance, his blue eyes penetrating me with his gaze.

I do know one thing. The baby is his, and we’re in this together even if we don’t work as a couple. “Okay,” I say. “Let’s get some things.”

He digs out his phone. “There has to be a baby place somewhere around here.”

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