Page 92 of Salty Pickle

There isn’t, not in the hotbed of tourism, but we take an Uber in heavy traffic to another store that Court assures me uses natural fibers and a more eco-friendly approach.

When we arrive, the young woman at the register says, “We’re closing in a half hour, but if you make your selections quickly, we can get you settled.”

Court’s face goes salty. I’m about to intervene when he slams his platinum card on the counter. “I’m having a baby in eleven days, and we need everything. Every single thing.”

“Oh!” The woman glances at my belly, then back at him. “What do you mean, everything?”

I come around his side. “We’ve been overwhelmed since learning about the baby, and we haven’t bought so much as a onesie. I think he wants to outfit as much as possible in one stop.”

She glances around. “Okay, let me get some help.” She walks to the door to twist the lock and switch the sign to closed. “Let’s get started.”

It takes three hours, the entire sales staff of four people, all who are getting bonuses for the extra time, and dinner ordered in for everyone to get it done. But we get clothes, diapers, baby wraps, blankets, burp cloths, baby toys, a bassinet, a changing table, a breast milk pump and all the accessories, and even nursing bras and tops for me.

We arrange for a delivery on Friday since Maggie will be there to clean and can receive it. I’ll be helping with the luncheon that day, and we’ll be gone tomorrow for the sonogram.

When did my days get so busy?

As we ride back to his apartment, my head on his shoulder, I ask, “Where are we going to put it all?”

“There’s an extra bedroom.”

“I haven’t been in there.”

He kisses the top of my head. “Why not?”

“It’s been closed. I kept thinking you might have a sex dungeon.”

He laughs. “I would have dragged you there by now, baby or no baby.”

“That sounds like a way to induce labor.”

“I had planned to create a workout room, but I like the one downstairs just fine, so I never did.”

“So, it’s empty?”

He hesitates. “Not exactly.”

I sit up, my head flashing with thoughts about what could be in there. Keepsakes from old relationships? High school trophies? “What is it?”

“I’ll show you.”

We arrive at the building, and Jerry steps forward to open our doors. “Mr. Armstrong,” he says. “And Lucy.”

It’s funny that Jerry knows me, but he doesn’t know about our goat. “Good evening, Jerry. We’re going to have another one soon.” I pat my belly.

“I’ll be here to bring the car around when it’s time.”

Court claps his shoulders. “You good in stressful situations, Jerry?”

“I’ve had fifty-two babies in this building while I was on duty.”

Court takes a step back. “You’re experienced!”

“Yes, sir.”

Court takes my hand as we head to the elevator.

When we’re inside, I ask, “Do you think he ever wonders where I was for the first eight months of this pregnancy?”

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