Page 31 of A Whisker in the Night

Despite everything that’s happened, I can’t help but feel a connection with her.

I really like Bizzy,she thinks to herself and it’s nice to know we’re on the same wavelength.We’re both about to become first-time mothers, both navigating this strange new territory of constantly being kicked from the inside. And soon we’ll be snuggling with our little ones on the outside—in this big scary world, no less.

“Speaking of bringing our little angels into the world”—she says as her eyes light up with far too much enthusiasm—“do you have a birthing plan?”

“A birthing plan? Um….” I falter. “Does packing a bag count?” I tease. I leave out the part where I beg for all the drugs they’re legally allowed to give me.

Hey? I guess Idohave a plan—one that involves high levels of quasi-backstreet narcotics.

“Oh, Bizzy, you really need to get a proper plan in place.” She launches in with the intensity of someone who’s read every guide on childbirth ever published. And I have no doubt she has. “I’m having a home birth, of course. I’m sort of a germaphobe, and we all know what hospitals are known for. I’ve already imported organic bamboo sheets from Japan, and I’ve hired a trio ofviolinists to play Mozart while I’m in active labor—studies show it increases the baby’s intelligence.” She gives a knowing nod.

“Oh right,” I say, trying not to cringe. “I’ve heard the same.” I think.

Although there’s no way a trio of strangers is going to be front and center while I hyperventilate trying to bring new life into this world.

“Of course, my doula will be there,” she continues. “She’ll be spreading rose petals while my birthing coach leads meditation, and I’m having fresh herbs woven into crystal wreaths to enhance the spiritual energy in the room.”

“Of course,” I say with an eager nod as if I’m in the know when it comes to all things herbs and crystals.

Bamboo sheets? Classical music? Funny herbs and crystals? Should I be implementing these things at my birth? At a germ-infested hospital, no less?

The baby gives a swift kick in my ribs as if to knock me back to reality. Either that or they’re trying to escape before someone makes them listen to Mozart.

“And that’s not all,” Hammie Mae goes on, practically glowing with prenatal preparation pride. “I’m having a professional photographer and videographer document everything.” She leans in. “I’ve even hired an artist to paint the skyline at the exact moment of birth.”

“The skyline?” I say, more than a little amazed at the level of detail going into this event. And here I was hoping Jasper wouldn’t miss the big moment because he was off chasing down a killer—but sort of resigned that he might.

Who am I kidding? I’ll be luckyIdon’t miss the birth because I’m chasing down a killer.

“Of course, I’ll be utilizing organic essential oils.” Hammie Mae averts her eyes as if it were a given. “I couldn’t have gotten through my first two trimesters without them.”

“For sure,” I say.

Does hot chili pepper oil count? I’m pretty certain I’ve had an infusion of it in all of the Chinese food Jasper and I have consumed as of late.

“And I’ve been practicing my birth mantras in Sanskrit.”

“Sanskrit?” I squint over at her. What does that even mean?

I get the feeling Hammie Mae’s birth plan comes with its own flow chart.

I clear my throat. “Well, that sounds...” I search for a diplomatic word that isn’t in the neighborhood of terrifying—but ironically,terrifyingis the only word I can come up with.

An airhorn pierces the silence between us and I’m thankful for the fact I just nearly had my eardrum forcibly removed.

Saved by the competition buzzer, which rings out across the field like a dinner bell for all of Cider Cove.

A cheer erupts as the crowd begins gravitating toward the tables brimming with savory treats.

“Looks like it’s time for me to start judging.” Hammie Mae grips her belly as if she has to carry it across the lawn in her own two hands. “You should definitely try some of the dishes. There’s actually a People’s Choice Award, so your vote counts, too. Though maybe stay away from entry number seven.” She lowers her voice a notch. “I hear someone brought something that involves Jell-O and cottage cheese. Avoid at all costs.”

I press my lips tight. “Sounds like a sensible plan.”

Leave it to Georgie’s contribution to challenge people’s digestive systems.

Hammie Mae races off and I waddle behind her at a more accommodating pace.

The baby kicks again, and I pat my belly soothingly. “Don’t worry. When the time comes, the only music you’ll hear is the sound of my heavy breathing. Though I can’t promise Georgie won’t try to bring her karaoke machine.”

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