We walk slowly down the street, pushed closely together in our usual huddle. Mysti is going on again about the pregnancy tests, small bear child still hugging her for dear life.

Her gaze constantly wander back to the kid in question, occasionally skipping over to Becky’s protruding stomach. Her eyes seem to grow a little wider every time. I can practically hear the screams pouring through her head.

I don’t blame her. I’m more than a little concerned myself.

Everything considered though, I’d say she’s holding herself together pretty well. Despite the Are You My Mother scene that she happened to wake up to.

Honestly, before today, I would have thought Mysti’s the last person who should have a kid. We’ve all seen her struggle with the most basic concepts of adulthood. The idea of her trying to impart wisdom on another human being… well, it’s just a little scary.

Seeing her with this one attached at the hip though, she really isn’t doing half-bad.

She’s infinitely better with him than I would be anyway. I mean, she has yet to buy a leash, which would have been my first priority.

He suddenly stops walking, pulling desperately at Mysti’s shirt for attention. Small fussy noises escape him, growing louder until Mysti leans to talk to him.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, sounding concerned.

He just continues whining louder, like a tourist who doesn’t speak the local language.

She looks at up at us, eyes pleading for help.

“I don’t know what he’s saying! I can’t do this, you guys!” She looks back down at him fearfully, “I’m not ready to be a mother!”

All my thoughts about her handling the situation shift instantly as I watch the growing panic in her eyes. I’d say she’s about a solid second from completely losing her shit.

“He’s probably hungry,” I offer.

His stomach growls an instant later, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“How did you know that?” Mysti asks, looking way too impressed.

“Well, what else could be wrong with him? I took a shot.”

“No, really, that was amazing.”

I laugh, knowing I was shooting blindly but feeling my ego inflate none the less.

“Alright, stomach whisperer,” Becky chimes in, “let’s find us some food then.”

Thankfully, this part of the city is practically overrun with cafes, so we don’t have to go too far before Sammi spots one.

We march straight for the mostly empty eatery, Mysti looking ten kinds of defeated by the time we get there.

We sit at a table on the patio, all our eyes now tracking the kid.

“What does it eat?” Mysti asks, eyeing him like he really is a dangerous animal.

“Um, food,” Becky says, giggling.

“Well, like what?”

I quickly grab a menu, scan the list annoyingly.

“Here, stroopwafel, get him that.”

“What is it?” Mysti asks.

“Fuck if I know. Just get it.”

Mysti sighs in resignation and we all sit in silent contemplation until the waiter arrives. After what we’ve uncovered so far, there’s no shortage of things to dwell on.

One of us is very likely pregnant, I’m almost certainly married, and my fiancé is on the news with some new wife of his own. Ex-fiancé. Whatever.

That’s not even taking into account my mystery guy, or the bear-skinned toddler currently drumming the table across from me.

It’s been an eventful twenty-four hours, that’s for sure.

When a polite man in an apron appears, we’ve all been a little too busy in our own heads to look at the menu. We end up ordering stroopwafels all around. Mostly because, it can’t be that bad.

At least it’s not pickled herring, which it turns out, people actually eat. Crazy fucking world, right?

“Okay,” Sammi says suddenly, leaning forward. “So we need another clue. We’ve gotta figure out where this little guy came from.”

For some reason I can’t explain, we all turn to Mysti. The panic in her eyes seems to double.

“I asked, okay? He doesn’t talk! He just sits there smiling at me and calling me mommy!”

“Well that’s kind of a clue,” Becky says. “I guess you look like his mommy.”

“Great. We’ll just keep walking until we find her then!” I laugh, now fully believing in pregnancy brain.

“Well fuck, Percy. I don’t know!”

“Does that costume have pockets?” Sammi asks.

Finally, something we can work with.

I look again to Mysti, who growls under her breath as she turns to the child.

“Got any pockets?” she asks, half in a sing-song.

“Mommy!” He replies, throwing a menu across the patio.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Mysti,” I laugh, “check for pockets.”

She flushes slightly.

“Oh, right.”

She gingerly pats his outfit with a laser-focused expression on her face like she’s a TSA agent and he might just have a bomb.

“No pockets.” She finally concludes.

Well, fuck. There goes that idea.

I laid my head against the table in frustration.

“What about a tag?” I hear Becky ask.

“A tag?” I reply incredulously.

“Yeah, when I was a kid, my mom used to write my name and address on my tag. In case I got lost or… whatever.”

I look up at her quickly, “people do that?”

She shrugs in response.

“Some people.”

“Check,” I say, turning back to Mysti.

She leans over, pulling at the kid’s bear hood while he squirms and laughs in front of her.

“Oh, stop wiggling,” she mumbles, straining to find the tag.

“Oh, shit,” she yells a second later, “there’s actually something here!”

“What?” I nearly turn my chair, I stand so fast. “What does it say?”

“It’s a name and an address!”

I roll my eyes.

“What does it say?”

“Eva Smit, 201 Molensteeg.” She answers slowly, badly over-pronouncing the street name. “Where the fuck is that?”

“I’m on it.” Sammi answers, hurriedly whipping out her cell phone.

A second later, our waiter reemerges from the kitchen carrying a busy tray like a pro.

I begrudgingly sit back down, my fingers impatiently tapping against the tabletop.

The kid spies our food immediately, bouncing up and down in excitement.

He digs in the second his plate touches the table, tiny hands both clasping what appear to just be really thin waffles.

Who knew?

I stare disinterestedly at them. Really, carbs just no longer hold any appeal for me.

“These are fucking amazing!” someone mumbles.

I turn to find Becky, half a stroopwafel already crammed into her mouth.

“Have mine,” I say, pushing my plate toward her.

She smiles widely, pulling the offering the rest of the way to her.

I watch in amazement as she devours the crispy waffles, crumbs cascading around her. She’s probably got half a waffle lodged between her tits at this point. I bite my tongue to keep from laughing.

Truly though, I’m fucking impressed.

“Got it!” Sammi suddenly shouts, slamming a fist on the table in triumph.

It’s about time.

“Awesome,” I say. “Where are we going?”

She smiles back at me mischievously.

“The red light district.”