Page 60 of Pregnant in Plaid
"This is impossible," I say.
"It's really not," Derek assures me. "You're just overthinking it. Here, watch."
He takes the doll from me and completes a perfect diaper change in approximately five seconds.
"How did you?—"
"Practice. You'll get there." He hands the doll back to me. "Try again."
I try again. And again. By the fourth attempt, I'm sweating and the doll is wearing a diaper that's technically attached but looks like a drunk person put it on.
"Good enough," Derek declares. "At least it won't fall off immediately."
"That's the standard?"
"That's the standard when you're running on two hours of sleep and covered in spit-up." He claps me on the shoulder. "You'll get faster."
"Or the baby will just go diaperless," I mutter.
"That's called elimination communication and it's a whole thing," Ben says. "Don't go down that rabbit hole."
"Noted."
I return to my barstool, defeated by a doll and a diaper. Gage hands me a fresh beer.
"You did better than I would've," he says.
The party continues. More beers, more stories, more questionable advice. At some point, Tyler and Ben start a heated debate about the best way to install a car seat, which somehow leads to them demonstrating with bar stools. It's chaos and ridiculous and exactly what I needed.
But underneath all of it, I keep thinking about Patrice.
About the way she looked this morning with my blanket around her. The way she smiled when the baby kicked. The way she said she was glad she was staying, even if just for the wedding.
I want more than just the wedding.
I want every morning. Every kick. Every smile.
I want her.
"You okay?" Gage asks quietly. The others are distracted by Tyler's car seat demonstration.
"Yeah. Just thinking."
"About?"
"Everything. The baby. Patrice. How I'm supposed to make this work."
"You love her," Gage says. It's not a question this time.
"Yeah," I admit. "I think I do."
"You think?"
"I do. I love her." Saying it out loud makes it real. Terrifying, but real. "I've loved her since that first night. And now she's here and I have a chance to actually do something about it, and if I tell her and she runs—" I shake my head. "I can't lose her again."
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
