‘Of course, I’m incredibly happy that the wedding is back on,’ I said, kicking my front door open to let Jenny and her endless bags into my apartment after me. ‘And I’m always down for a crafternoon, but are you sure you’ve got enough time to organize an entire wedding in one week?’
Jenny dumped an armload of brown paper bags onto my sofa, revealing her grinning face.
‘Have you met me?’ she replied. ‘Of course I have. And the sooner you quit talking and start stuffing, the sooner we’ll be ready for the bachelorette.’
It really was my own fault. In the week and a half that had passed between Jenny and Mason patching up their differences, Jenny had decided she simply couldn’t wait one more second to become Mrs Jennifer Lopez Cawston. Not that she was planning on taking his name, but she liked to say it for effect.
‘It makes perfect sense,’ Jenny said, licking the whipped cream off the top of her coffee cup. ‘Break for the holidays on Friday, get married on Saturday and head off on honeymoon on Sunday. Ring in the New Year with mojitos in Maui. Boom.’
Somehow, I managed to stop myself from asking why she hadn’t thought of this in the first place and saved everyone a lot of bother. I was truly growing as a person.
‘Where’s Alex?’ she asked, making herself at home in my living room. ‘Is he around? Is he going to help?’
‘Alex is downstairs in the studio, recording demos with Graham,’ I said, shaking my head at the panic in her eyes. ‘It’s fine, Craig isn’t here.’
‘Kind of sucks that I’ll never be able to see a Stills show again,’ she sighed, checking all her bags. Party City, Dylan’s Candy Bar, Mood Fabrics, Blick Art Materials. We’d been everywhere. ‘Do you think he’ll get over it?’
‘In time,’ I promised. She didn’t need to know Craig had stopped by the night before with his third new girlfriend of the month. If there was one thing New York was not running low on, it was hot girls who wanted to go out with cute musicians. Craig would survive, one way or another.
‘I can’t believe this time next week, I’ll be getting married,’ she said, fishing a handful of craft paper place cards out of one of the bags and throwing me a calligraphy pen. ‘We’re doing a walk-through at The Union tomorrow evening and confirming the menu Monday, and then that’s it. Hey, how’s your handwriting?’
‘Terrible,’ I replied, throwing it back. My living room was already covered in wedmin detritus, tear sheets from The Knot, printouts from Pinterest, rubber stamps, miniature mason jars, and every colour ribbon under the sun. ‘You write, I’ll stuff.’
‘I don’t know why I didn’t think to do the wedding there in the first place.’ Jenny plonked herself on the living room rug next to the coffee table, a huge Starbucks cup in front of her. ‘What’s more me than a super-luxe boutique hotel in the middle of Manhattan?’
‘Especially when you used to work there and they let you use their events space for next to nothing,’ I agreed, picking her coat up off the floor and hanging it on the coatrack. ‘So, what’s the deal then?’
‘We have the penthouse suite with panoramic views of Manhattan for the ceremony,’ she explained, capturing her curls in a topknot. ‘Which they’ve refurbished since I left, it’s so nice now. It’ll be super intimate, just twenty people. Then it’s dinner for fifty in the restaurant, and we’ve hired out the basement bar for the evening for everyone else. They tried to stiff me on that, but I offered to hold the next AJB after party there over fashion week and suddenly the price became much more affordable.’
‘And you’ve got everything else sorted?’ I asked. ‘Flowers, photographer, hair, make-up?’
‘Invitations have all been emailed, Erin is taking care of the flowers, Tess Brookes is going to do the photographs,’ she replied, ticking each item off on her fingers, ‘Gina is doing my hair, Razor is doing my make-up. All that’s left is my dress.’
‘Oh.’ I pulled out an enormous sack of gummy bears and what seemed like hundreds of black, glittery favour bags. ‘Just the dress.’
‘I’ve called in every favour I was ever owed,’ she said, the cap of her pen in between her teeth. ‘And some I really didn’t deserve. I’ll have a dress by Monday for sure. You and Erin are figured out, right?’
‘Right,’ I confirmed.
‘Mason took care of the photo booth, the cars, the cake and the rings, and he swears he’s getting his suit and shoes today.’ She took a deep swallow and smacked her lips together. When you didn’t have time for a wedding diet, there was no wedding diet. ‘I’m telling you, Angie, this is the way to do it. No muss, no fuss.’
‘If I ever get married again, I’ll bear that in mind,’ I replied as I opened the sack of gummy bears. A rush of fake rosé scent escaped from the bag and hit me right in the face. ‘Gross.’
‘Are you gonna puke?’ Jenny asked, suddenly alert. ‘How are you still getting morning sickness? Aren’t you past twelve weeks now?’
‘Some lucky people get it all day, all the way through their pregnancy,’ I said in between slow, calming breaths. ‘It’s getting difficult to hide it at work.’
‘You still haven’t told them?’ She gave me a sympathetic frown. ‘Because of the restructure?’
‘I still have no idea what’s happening,’ I nodded. ‘Every day I sit at my desk, waiting for the guillotine to fall, and nothing happens. I haven’t laid eyes on Joe or Delia in days. Until I know what’s going on, I’d rather keep my news to myself.’
‘You won’t be able to much longer,’ she said, reaching out to pat my neat little bump. ‘Sure, you can tell people you just got fat right now, but if he keeps growing the way he is, they’re gonna know.’
‘What makes you think it’s a he?’ I asked, considering my belly. ‘I think it’s a girl.’
‘Definitely a boy,’ Jenny said. ‘A girl would have had more considerate timing.’
The instant I reached into the bag of rosé gummy bears to fill my first favour bag, the swell of sickness was back. I jumped to my feet, hand clapped over my mouth, and ran down to the basement toilet. It was roomier than the upstairs bathroom when it came to puking and, thanks to the bump, I’d had plenty of opportunity to try them both out. Clawfoot, roll-top bathtubs looked amazing, but they didn’t half take up a lot of space.
When I first met Alex, he was an uber hipster, living the life in a cool Williamsburg loft that overlooked Manhattan. It was the most amazing place I had ever seen, huge open spaces and high ceilings with windows where the walls should be, and a neverending view of New York City. Now, here we were, married with a baby on the way, living in a two-bedroom apartment in a gorgeous townhouse in Park Slope. I missed the loft and its inherent cool factor but I loved our home. Rolling off the L train and traipsing through hipsterville had been fun, even if I’d always felt more like I was visiting the zoo than moving in for good.
Our Park Slope place was still a fair bit different to all the other family homes on the block. Before Alex invested every penny we had, it had belonged to a music producer friend and our cavernous basement had been turned into a fully functioning studio. It was a muso boy’s dream come true. Less awesome if you were the wife of said muso, and liked walking around in your pants of an evening. But thanks to the wonders of soundproofing, I never knew who was down there with him.
Post-yak, I washed my face and stuck my head around the studio door, just to say hello. Alex and Graham were locked in what looked like a very serious conversation behind the glass. Graham was still sporting his travelling beard, I noticed. It was a bold choice. Alex cradled his vintage Fender Stratocaster in his lap. I’d barely seen it out of his arms ever since he arrived home – I’d have been jealous if I wasn’t carrying around my own actual human baby; he acted as though he had missed it more than he missed me.
I stared at the soundboard in front of me, dozens of dials and switches blinking with little red and green lights in the darkness.
‘One of you turns the sound on,’ I said, sighing as I tried to remember exactly what to press.
I was certain Alex only knew how to use half of these buttons, just like me with the dishwasher, but it made him feel like a very special boy to have such an important toy. Somewhere on there was a two-way mic, flick it one way and I’d be able to hear them, flick it the other and we’d both be able to hear each other.
‘Ah-ha.’ I spotted a dial covered in glittery nail polish and turned it all the way to the left. Alex and Graham’s voices echoed over the speakers. Clearly my husband also remembered the night I’d spent five minutes screaming at him through the glass because our Chinese had arrived and I didn’t have any cash on me to pay for it.
‘I’m not against licensing out the music,’ Graham was saying, smoothing down his moustache as he spoke. He looked like Charles Manson, it really had to go. ‘But not to these guys. I don’t want people to think about processed chicken every time they hear one of our songs.’
‘But you do want my kid to get a shitty education?’ Alex countered. ‘I hear what you’re saying, Gray, but I’ve got to think about these things now. I can’t afford to make all my decisions based on your artistic integrity.’
I held my breath, hoping that they hadn’t noticed me. I was definitely not meant to hear this conversation.
‘If you want to whore yourself out, go ahead,’ Graham replied. ‘I heard Justin Timberlake bought an actual island with the money he got for a McDonald’s commercial, but you’re not selling our music to these people.’
‘This isn’t McDonald’s,’ Alex protested, holding the guitar in front of him like a shield. ‘Craig’s fine with it.’
‘Then maybe you should record the next Stills record as a two-piece,’ Graham said, hopping off his stool. ‘I’m super psyched about you having a kid, Alex, but I’m not prepared to sell out so you can buy diapers. Why are you trying to destroy the band? You already cancelled all the summer festival shows without even consulting us. I always knew this would happen; I just figured Craig would be the one to accidentally knock up some chick, not you.’
‘It’s not like I planned this, it’s not like I’m ready,’ Alex shouted. I jumped back in the dark. Alex never raised his voice. ‘There’s a whole bunch of shit I’m gonna have to leave on the to-do list whether I like it or not. She’s pregnant, Graham, and I have to deal with it.’
I reached out and flipped off the switch, burning with an entire selection box of emotions. Alex had been so happy about the baby. From the second I told him, he’d done nothing but smile like a loon. He was constantly plumping up my pillows, rubbing my feet, asking how I felt. Not once had he said anything about not being ready.
‘Daddy didn’t mean that,’ I whispered to my stomach, hoping it was true. Why couldn’t I have been born super rich? Or at least super stupid. Stupid people didn’t worry about anything.
Graham snatched the door of the recording booth open and made a small, shocked sound when he saw me lurking in the shadows.
‘Oh, hey,’ he said, not quite managing to look me in the eye. ‘I guess congratulations are in order.’
‘It is traditional,’ I said, sliding a smile I didn’t feel onto my face. I didn’t want him or Alex to know I’d heard their conversation. ‘Sweet beard.’
‘You like it?’ he asked, stroking the ends with a smile.
‘No,’ I replied. ‘It’s awful.’
‘I’m headed out,’ he said, looking back at Alex who was tuning his guitar in the booth. ‘I have a ton of things to do today but it was great to see you.’
‘Don’t let me keep you,’ I said, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Bye, Graham.’
Picking up the canvas messenger bag that sat on the knackered old sofa behind me, he nodded before jogging up the stairs and out the front door. Inside the booth, Alex looked up and smiled. I waved, pointing to my ears when he started talking to let him know I couldn’t hear. And hopefully convince him I hadn’t heard any of it.
‘Hi, beautiful.’ He emerged from the booth and slid his hands around my waist, bending down to kiss the bump. ‘How’s it going up there?’
It was as if the other Alex had vanished completely. There was nothing in his eyes or his voice but pure love. If he really was angry or upset, he was doing far too good a job of hiding it.
‘I came down to throw up,’ I said and he pulled away from a kiss, sticking out his tongue instead. ‘Graham went off in a bit of a rush. Everything OK?’
He bopped his head from side to side, his long hair skirting around his eyelashes.
‘The company that wants to license “Night Song” is not to his liking,’ he said. Pinching his shoulders together, he let out a light sigh. ‘But they want to pay us a ton of money. Like, a really filthy amount of money.’
‘Retire-to-the-Bahamas money?’ I asked, raising an eyebrow.
‘Retire to the Bahamas and set up our own drug-running business,’ he nodded. ‘But they’re not the most morally sound group of individuals ever.’
I liked to think of myself as a morally sound person but he still hadn’t really said exactly how much money we were talking about.
‘Have I eaten there?’
‘Babe,’ Alex said. ‘You’ve eaten everywhere.’
Good point.
‘Well, have they ever killed anyone?’ I asked.
‘Not directly as far as I know,’ Alex replied. ‘But they’ve got some pretty shitty hiring policies when it comes to people who aren’t straight white dudes and I totally understand why Graham isn’t jumping for joy about selling them the song.’
‘Then don’t do it,’ I said simply. ‘You’ve been offered stuff like this before and you said no. The record label won’t be massively shocked.’
‘Yeah, but we weren’t expecting a baby before,’ he reminded me. ‘I got to thinking about everything the baby is going to need, not just school. Did you know diapers alone cost more than a thousand dollars a year? And it’s not like we can toilet-train that little sucker any earlier. A grand! Just so it can poop itself.’
‘You could hold it over the lav for the first eighteen months,’ I suggested. ‘I can’t imagine you’d be terribly productive but if we’re saving the thick end of two grand …’
It was meant to be a joke but the crumpled look that had taken over his usually easy expression cut me off.
‘You do what you need to do,’ I told him, placing his hand on my little, round belly. I’d spent our entire relationship trying to keep his hands away from that area; I wanted to make the most of this while I could. ‘It’s not as though we’re that hard up for money.’
Unless I lose my job. Unless your next album doesn’t sell. Unless there’s a recession and the economy crashes and people stop buying magazines and paying for music and, oh shit, both of those things are already happening.
‘I’m not worried,’ he said. Even as he spoke, I saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes and I didn’t like it one little bit. ‘Everything is OK.’
‘Everything is going to be so beyond OK,’ I told him, resting my hands on top of his. ‘Everything’s going to be fantastic, Alex Reid. And you’re going to be the best dad in the world.’
‘Angie!’ Jenny yelled from the top of the stairs. ‘There’s someone at the door!’
‘Answer it, then!’ I bellowed back as Alex pulled away, shielding his ears. ‘Probably just stuff for the wedding,’ I reasoned. ‘Or baby stuff.’
‘More baby stuff?’ he asked.
He looked pointedly at the pile of boxes I’d already stashed in the studio. Ever since we cleared twelve weeks, I hadn’t been able to help myself. We’d agreed we wouldn’t tell anyone other than the people we had to until I knew what was happening with work and we’d filled in our parents but that didn’t mean I hadn’t put some quality time in on BabiesRUs.com.
‘I’ve been meaning to ask,’ Alex bent over and picked up what looked like a bulletproof vest. ‘What is this?’
‘It’s a breast pump bustier,’ I explained, readily whipping it out of the box. I unzipped the front and slipped my arms through the sleeves. ‘See? You wear it like a sports bra and then you clip two automatic breast pumps to these slots in the front and it literally milks you.’
I clipped in the pumps and held out my hands for him to inspect my latest purchase.
‘It looks like a torture device from Star Trek,’ Alex gasped in horror. ‘Why are you smiling? This is horrifying.’
‘It’s amazing,’ I said, parading up and down the studio with my hands on my hips. ‘I can milk myself like a cow while still playing Candy Crush and you’re taking care of the baby.’
‘Angela!’ Jenny yelled again. ‘I think you ought to get up here!’
‘I bet Jenny will like it,’ I said, heading up the staircase, ready to show off my lactating leisurewear. ‘Oi, Jenny, I think I’ve got my bridesmaid dress sorted.’
‘Angela Clark, what the bloody hell are you wearing?’
Standing in the middle of the hallway, surrounded by suitcases and sporting almost offensive tans, were my mum and my dad.
‘It’s a breast pump bustier,’ I said slowly, as Alex climbed the stairs behind me. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Surprising you, obviously. We’re here for the wedding,’ Mum said. ‘Why are you wearing a breast pump bustier?’
‘Because I’m pregnant,’ I replied.
‘Who’s surprising who, amirite?’ Jenny asked, her face stretching into an enormous open-mouthed smile as she bumped my leather-faced father with her hip. ‘Mr Clark? You OK?’
‘You’re what?’ Mum dropped her handbag and four little Nespresso pods rolled out onto the hardwood floor.
‘Angela is pregnant,’ Alex said, bending over to recover Mum’s treasures. ‘We’re having a baby.’
‘You’re pregnant?’ Dad asked.
We both nodded.
‘With a baby?’
‘God, I hope so,’ I said, pulling a worried face at Alex.
‘And this isn’t just one of your jokes?’
‘Yes, Dad, it’s a joke,’ I replied, pulling up my T-shirt to show them my slightly swollen stomach. ‘I thought it would be hilarious to put on a stone and walk around the house wearing a breast pump bustier just on the off chance that my parents, who don’t even live in this country, might decide to pop round on a Saturday afternoon to surprise me.’
‘Well, there’s no need for that attitude,’ Mum muttered. Her lips had disappeared into one bright fuchsia slash across her dark brown face and her hands were shaking. ‘You’re really having a baby?’
‘I’m really having a baby,’ I said. ‘I’ve weed on fifteen tests, seen a doctor, and had a sonogram done from outside my belly and inside my vagina. I’m definitely having a baby.’
‘You don’t need to be crass about it,’ she replied, bursting into tears. ‘My baby is having a baby!’
‘And I’m going to be a granddad!’
Roaring at the top of his lungs, my dad grabbed hold of Jenny and began to waltz her around the living room, whooping at her, while my mum charged Alex with a hug that almost took him off his feet.
‘Well, that’s saved me a phone call,’ I said, wiping away a tear of my own in the middle of the madness, hands resting on the bump, boobs squeezed into a breast pump bustier, heart absolutely bursting.