A/N: This was one of those chapters that didn't turn out exactly as I'd planned - there have been a lot of those in this story. I can't decide if that's good or bad. Thanks so much to all who are reading, I've really been enjoying hearing from you about this one!
After a month of attending night school, Stan had become accustomed to the various personalities that were unleashed after dark at Park County High. He was looking forward to school in a way that he never had before: Mr. Garrison didn't give them tests or homework, and nobody from the school seemed to notice or care. As graduating seniors who had already received their college acceptance letters, Stan figured it didn't matter that much to the administration if the pregnant boys' class time mostly consisted of sitting in a circle and flipping through old magazines about child rearing. Even Kyle was content to let Stan languish under Garrison's tutelage now that Stan had officially been accepted to CSU.
"Have you heard anything about the scholarships you applied for?" Stan asked Kyle when they were on their way to school on a Friday evening.
"No," Kyle said. "But they must have passed my contact information along to some local newspapers, because I've been getting calls about interviews."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, seriously." Kyle looked over at him. "I'm not going to do it," he said. "It's too humiliating. I'm not Cartman."
"I know," Stan said, patting Kyle's knee. It had been a long week, and they were both dragging, ready to get the Friday night class over with so they could go back to Stan's house and curl up in his bed. Stan lifted his hand from Kyle's knee and gave his belly a hopeful rub, but there were no stirrings from the baby. Kyle smiled at him sadly.
"I'm telling you," Kyle said, "When you're not there, she moves a lot. You just have a calming presence."
"It's okay." Stan was afraid at moments that Kyle was only telling him that the baby was moving to make him feel better. He'd waited a few days to tell Stan after he finally felt Elway shifting around, somewhere around the five and a half month mark. Kyle hadn't wanted Stan to feel left out, and Stan knew it was ridiculous, but he did.
When they arrived at class, they had the usual half hour of milling around and chatting. Tweek had taken up knitting, which apparently calmed his nerves a great deal, and the click of his needles provided a kind of backbeat to their chatter, making the whole thing feel, to Stan, rather homey. Wendy was still baking furiously, getting slightly better at it, and today she was passing out some kind of homemade granola in individual pink baggies, tied with fancifully curled green ribbon. Attached to each baggie was a green, white and pink invitation to Cartman's baby shower.
"I'm registered at Pottery Barn Kids and Target," Cartman announced as Wendy passed out the granola-accompanied invites. "And if you go online, you'll see that I've assigned a gift from each registry to all of you. That's two gifts per person, not per couple."
"Eric," Wendy said, but she wasn't exactly scolding him.
Stan examined the invitation. Three smiling green frogs sat alongside the text, which announced that the shower would be held at Cartman's house, of course. Stan imagined Liane was already working on the menu, and that Wendy probably was, too, futilely attempting to compete with the best cook in town. Apparently tensions were high at the Cartman household, where Cartman was increasingly leaning on Wendy rather than his mother. Stan thought it was pretty brilliant, though no less than he'd expected from Cartman: he was using Wendy's need to win at all costs to make her tirelessly devoted to his every whim, mostly for the sake of outscoring Liane.
"Oh, look, you're inviting me," Garrison said when Wendy handed him an invitation.
"You can bring a date," Cartman said. "But only if he brings two presents. You'll see on the lists, the suggested presents for 'Potential Date of Mr. Garrison.' It's clearly marked."
"How nice of you to think of that," Garrison said.
"We are not bringing you four presents," Kyle said.
"Then I guess you're not coming, Kyle," Cartman said, glowering at him.
"Fine!" Kyle said. "Like I even wanted to!"
"No, you guys have to come," Wendy said. "We're going to do party games."
"Oh, God," Craig said. He dropped his granola onto the desk he was sitting on. "I can't go back to attending parties hosted by you people until I can drink again."
"You're gonna serve booze, right?" Garrison asked.
"No!" Cartman said. "Nobody will be drinking, out of solidarity of the guest of honor. Me!" he added, as if they might not know who the guest of honor was.
"Never thought I'd see the day that Liane Cartman hosted a dry brunch," Garrison said. "How's the old gal doing, anyway?"
"You'll find out if you show up with your assigned presents," Cartman said.
Class was the usual mix of everyone in the circle voicing their gripes about their various doctors and perusing pregnancy-related articles on their iPads and in Garrison's dated magazines. Stan tried not to boil with jealousy when Butters yelped and Kenny reached over to touch his stomach.
"She wakes me up at night sometimes," Butters said, resting his hand over Kenny's.
"She?" Stan said. "You finally found out?"
"I sneaked a look at my file," Butters said, smiling. "They marked the 'sex' box with an 'F.'"
"Why the hell are they trying to keep it from you?" Cartman asked.
"Well." Butters glanced at Kenny.
"They don't want him getting attached," Kenny said, his fingers flexing on Butters' stomach. "He's supposed to give her up."
"And when exactly are you going to spring your alternate plan on them?" Garrison asked.
"Don't tell them," Kenny said. "Please."
"Oh, calm down," Garrison said. "Stephen Stotch is the most pathetically hypocritical queen I've ever met. He can go to hell for all I care."
"Dude," Stan said. "That's Butters' dad."
"No, that's okay, Stan," Butters said. "He's a pretty hypocritical queen, it's true."
"Wait, hang on," Token said. "It's a good question. When are you going to break it to your parents that you want to keep your baby, Butters?"
"Yeah," Clyde said. He was eying Butters' stomach, which seemed like the biggest in class, possibly because he had the smallest frame. "Seems like it's gonna come up pretty soon."
"Aw, heck," Butters said, mumbling. "I don't know. I think I might wait until I'm holding her in the hospital. Once they see her, they won't want to let her go, either!"
"Oh, Jesus," Garrison said. "Let's break for dinner."
After class, Kyle was animated as usual, telling Stan everything that Wendy had said that annoyed him and interviewing him about what had gone on in the Mommy Circle, which was Kyle and Wendy's derisive name for Garrison's classroom. Stan thought it was kind of mean, and was a little worried about how disinterested Kyle was when it came to motherhood. Of course Kyle wouldn't be a mother, exactly, but he wasn't not a mother, at least in some technical sense. During the twenty-four week ultrasound Terrell had mentioned that Kyle's prolatin levels were already getting higher, which probably meant his milk ducts were fully formed. Kyle had spent the rest of the afternoon in tears, curled against Stan's chest and holding the front of Stan's sweatshirt over his eyes.
"Pottery Barn Kids," Kyle said, turning the baby shower invitation over in his hands. He scoffed. "Cartman would be lucky to get a diaper cake from us."
"A diaper cake?"
"It's a thing." Kyle gave Stan a look. He never liked it when Stan knew less about baby-related matters than he did, as if Stan had caught him researching something other than special needs scholarships and anesthetization procedures during C-sections.
"Do you want to have one of those?" Stan asked.
"A diaper cake?" Kyle said, looking horrified.
"No, well - yeah, I don't know. A shower."
"Jews don't do showers," Kyle said. He tossed the invitation onto the dash along with the granola. "It's bad luck."
"Oh - what? Really?"
"Yes, really. No showers, no furniture for the baby until it's born. You're not even supposed to tell people about the pregnancy for five months. Or maybe it's three? I don't know, but they're very superstitious."
"You mean we," Stan said.
"We?"
"You said 'they.' What, you're not Jewish anymore?"
"Obviously I'm still Jewish!" Kyle said. He was getting worked up, red-faced. "But it's not like I could conform to the traditions. Everybody and their dog knew about this baby from week one."
"That's not true," Stan said. "We kept it a secret for a while."
"The point is, no shower." Kyle crossed his arms over his stomach and looked out the window. "It's so tacky, anyway. Party games. Ha!"
Stan was in a good mood once they arrived at his house, because it was Friday, and they could finally spend the night together. He was convinced that if he just stayed still enough and awake long enough, he'd be able to feel Elway moving while Kyle slept. He was somewhat obsessed with experiencing this, especially since everyone else was always commenting on something their baby was doing during class. Henrietta's had gotten the hiccups on Wednesday.
"Has Kenny talked to you about his plans?" Kyle asked when they were up in bed together, Kyle lying on his side while Stan rubbed his neck and shoulders.
"Sort of," Stan said. "Kenny's so smart in some ways, but he's so dumb in others."
"Yeah," Kyle said. "So what's his plan? Selling weed?"
"No," Stan said. "He's not that dumb. At least, not after he got beat up that time. He's got that job at the soap factory during the day now. Apparently there's health insurance."
"What good does that do for Butters?" Kyle asked. "They can't get married. Butters is going to be on the hook for all of his medical expenses, and his parents will pay that. They'll make sure he does what they want him to in the end, trust me."
"Butters stands up for himself sometimes," Stan said. "When you really push him."
"Standing up for yourself is one thing. Paying for an infant's medical care is another."
"Okay, but wait. Kenny is the baby's father. Legally, like. They could do a DNA test or whatever. Then he could at least have the baby on his insurance."
"It's not a solution," Kyle said. He moaned and rolled over onto his back, blinking up at Stan. "They'll need their parents' help, and Kenny's can't help financially. They're screwed, Stan."
"Don't say it like that."
"Why not? It's true!"
Stan didn't have a problem staying awake after that, and he fretted while he held Kyle, who was sleeping deeply, slumped against Stan's chest. Kyle's belly was heavy against Stan's, and Stan kept thinking he could feel the baby's heartbeat - he'd heard it was possible - but it was Kyle's heartbeat. Stan knew they were lucky, because their parents had been talking about supporting them financially from the beginning. He just wished that Kyle would say so, because he wasn't sure he was allowed to feel lucky if Kyle didn't.
In the morning, Stan's alarm went off at seven AM, and Kyle groaned, pulling the pillow over his face as Stan slid away from him. Leaving Kyle and the warmth of the bed on a cold Saturday morning was hell, but only for the first bleary ten minutes or so. After that Stan was back to being grateful to have the job, even if the pharmacy only gave him twenty hours a week and eight bucks an hour. That was still over a hundred bucks a week, after taxes, that he could use to take Kyle to a drive thru before class or out to dinner, though Kyle was less and less enthusiastic about being seen out in public.
"I'll be back around three," Stan said to Kyle, whispering this against his cheek.
"I love you so much," Kyle mumbled, and Stan kissed his cheek three times before leaving, feeling the pull of Kyle's body heat even as he headed out into the hallway.
Stan had worked a few shifts during the week before class, but most of the time he worked on Saturdays and Sundays, when the pharmacy was busy and the actual pharmacist needed help with the register while he filled prescriptions. Generally, people coming to the pharmacy were not in good moods. They were embarrassed, sick, or just annoyed that their insurance didn't cover more of their prescription costs. There were a lot of old people, and the florescent lighting made them look extra sickly, zombie-like at times. By the time Stan had his lunch break he felt like he'd been at work for several days. He sat out back behind the building, still wearing his white lab coat over his clothes while he ate his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Some of the cold from the morning had burnt off, but it was still chilly outside, though it was nearly May. Stan realized with dull surprise that he'd be graduating from high school in less than a month.
The depression closed around him slowly throughout the rest of his shift, though once he recognized what he was feeling it snapped shut over his head in a flash. Suddenly he couldn't stop thinking about how things would be if Kyle wasn't going to have a baby in three months. They would be planning which graduation parties to attend, Kyle would be selecting their outfits for any that had themes, and they would be calling the manager of the apartment building where they would soon move in together, their savings plumped by graduation gift money. Kyle would have had a lot of opinions about how they decorated their own little place, and Stan would have pretended to consider the options carefully, nodding along with Kyle as he talked himself through them. Stan wouldn't have cared if Kyle painted the walls neon pink and installed green shag carpet. He would have loved any place with both their names on the buzzer.
Now he knew they'd never have that. It would never be just the two of them, unless Kyle gave the baby up, and Stan was fairly certain that he wouldn't. It should have been a relief, and it was, but there was this other feeling, too. A measly twenty hours a week behind a register was exhausting, even without a needy infant or any real homework, and all Stan had to show for it was ten dollars and thirty-five cents until his next paycheck. That wasn't even enough to rent a hall closet at the McCormick residence.
After work, Stan used half of his remaining wealth to buy Kyle a pack of Nutter Butters and a little bottle of the strawberry kiwi punch he was into lately. Stan liked coming home with groceries. It made what he was doing feel somewhat worthwhile. He was hoping to be promoted to full time cashier position after proving himself on weekends, though he was fairly sure that wouldn't leave room for CSU. It was just as well; without scholarships, he'd have to take out student loans, and that was the last thing they needed.
Kyle was still in Stan's bed when he got home from work. He'd showered and dressed and was making notes on some novel, preparing for his AP English exam. Stan delivered the cookies and the drink, kissed him hello and flopped down into bed with him, too tired to muster the energy for a shower.
"You smell like band-aids," Kyle said, tucking his arm around Stan. "And hand sanitizer."
"Old people," Stan said. "I smell like a retirement home. I feel like a retirement home."
"Oh, c'mere," Kyle said. "Poor thing." He put his book and the snack on the bedside table and rolled toward Stan with a grunt. Stan rested his forehead against Kyle's and looked down at his belly, sliding his hand up under Kyle's shirt.
"Did she move at all while I was at work?" Stan asked.
"A little," Kyle said. "Probably nothing you could have felt from the outside."
"Maybe she doesn't like the sound of my voice," Stan said, feeling wounded and low.
"I think it's because she does like the sound of you," Kyle said. "That's why there's no moving. Like she's listening."
Stan grinned and scooted down to press his face to Kyle's stomach. There had been little pockets of optimism in Kyle's attitude in the past few weeks. He'd even peeked at the twenty-four week ultrasound, though he'd quickly shuddered and looked away.
"Read to us from your book," Stan said, closing his eyes against Kyle's stomach.
"Us?" Kyle said. "Really? See, I throw you a bone and you always take it too far. You know what you should try? Play a song. I've heard that music can - cause reactions," he said, adopting a clinical tone again.
"I guess I could try that," Stan said. He sat up and groped for his guitar, which hadn't gotten much attention in the past few months. Kyle was always sleeping, or studying, and he had a low tolerance for Stan's musical stylings when he was trying to concentrate on something else.
Kyle ate his cookies and drank his punch while Stan played 'Spanish Guitar No. 5,' because it seemed like the kind of song that might speak to an unborn baby.
"Anything?" he asked after a few minutes, looking up at Kyle. He had crumbs on his shirt, and his lips were stained red from the punch.
"No, nothing," Kyle said. "You sound good, though!"
"Should I play the Sesame Street theme or something?" Stan asked. "What?" he said when Kyle laughed. "What should I play?"
"Play something original," Kyle said. "One of the instrumental ones that you used to play when we'd get high with Kenny."
"Dude, no! I'm not playing stoner music for our baby."
"It wasn't stoner music! It was - those are good memories. I would cry, remember?"
"Yeah, yeah," Stan said. The only time Kyle was actually moved by his music was when he was high on Kenny's filthy bedroom floor, blubbering about how he thought trees were probably sentient and that he was pretty sure Stan had been one in a past life, whereas Kyle had been a bird. Actually, at the time, that had made Stan cry, too, because while he was high it seemed like absolute proof that Kyle truly knew him in a way that no one else could.
Kyle abandoned his novel for his iPad while Stan continued to cycle through his repertoire, waiting for Kyle to shout that he'd finally played the right combination of notes to inspire their baby to action.
"Cartman's registry is ridiculous," Kyle said. "The Target one, anyway. He's assigned a Playstation 3 to Token. I'm supposed to get him a sixty dollar blender."
"Maybe he wants to make organic baby food with it," Stan said.
"Yeah, I'm sure that's what it's for, not Oreo milkshakes."
"Don't you want to have a baby shower?" Stan asked, though he wasn't sure he should press. It was hard to know; Kyle's moods had evened out somewhat, but he still took sharp left turns at times. "We could get presents, dude. For Elway. I'm sure some Jewish people think it's okay have showers. Look it up."
"I don't need to look it up," Kyle said. His voice was tight, but not quite rage-filled. "Of course some liberal sects believe that it's okay. But my parents aren't liberal! And neither am I."
"Dude, yes you are."
"Not about this," Kyle said. "Just drop it, dude. I don't need any more bad luck."
Stan wanted to ask what he considered to be bad luck so far, but he supposed the whole boy-getting-pregnant thing qualified pretty solidly, and not getting into Yale, too. He put his chin on Kyle's shoulder and watched him scroll through Cartman's registry, wondering if even a little part of him was jealous that Cartman would receive some of those gifts.
"Want to have sex?" Stan asked. He'd learned that it was worse to wait for Kyle to ask than to irritate him with humble requests, and lately Kyle had been more enthusiastic about exploring positions that were easy on his back.
"Ugh," Kyle said. "Sex. It's like yoga now. I can't wait until you can just put me over the side of the bed again. No, like. Can we just blow each other?"
"Of course," Stan said. He reached for Kyle's dick, which had become somewhat difficult to access in this position, requiring Stan to twist his wrist around Kyle's stomach. They both went quiet, and Stan could feel Kyle's self-consciousness growing while his cock stayed soft.
"Or, fuck," Kyle said. "Maybe you could just eat my ass. That way I won't have to be staring down at this goddamn mound of fat the whole time."
"You mean, um, you want to be on your hands and knees?" Stan preferred to have Kyle's thighs on his shoulders while he went to work down there, so he could feel Kyle's legs tense and relax.
"Yeah," Kyle said, sighing. "I'll blow you, don't worry."
"I wasn't worried."
"Here, let me do you first," Kyle said, sitting up with a grunt. "So I can go to sleep right after I come."
Something about these practical measures, or discussing them beforehand, made them both take a long time to finish, and they were moody afterward, jaws sore. Kyle's phone rang on the bedstand, and he picked it up and threw it across the room.
"Dude?" Stan said. Kyle huffed and settled back down onto the pillow, turning so that Stan would spoon him.
"It's my fucking mother," Kyle said. "She wants me to come home."
"Why?"
"I don't know! So she and Terrell can harass me. I'm so sick of both of them. I just want to stay here." He grabbed Stan's hand and held it fiercely to his chest, as if he expected Stan to try to goad him out of bed, too. Stan wanting nothing less, especially when a gentle rain started falling outside. He hugged Kyle to him and hummed under his breath, rubbing Kyle's stomach.
"Stop," Kyle said, and Stan did, but not before sighing to express his annoyance.
Around dinnertime the rain intensified, and Stan's mom came knocking. They blinked at her groggily when she slipped into the room, Kyle wearing only a too-small t-shirt and Stan naked except for the blanket over his lap. She informed them that Kyle's mother had been calling on the house phone, worried about him.
"I told her that you're fine," Sharon said, scratching at her elbow nervously. Stan wished she would leave; the room smelled like sex, and there was a lingering taste of Kyle's ass in his mouth. "But she wants you to call her, Kyle, and to come home for dinner."
"No, no," Kyle said. "I eat dinner here on Saturdays. She knows that."
"Yeah, I told her you were welcome to stay." Sharon shrugged. "She seemed kind of agitated."
"Oh, God," Kyle said.
"Have you been feeling okay?" Sharon asked. Though Kyle was constantly around, he rarely had conversations of substance with Stan's parents. It was the same for Stan with Kyle's parents. They'd been hanging around each other's houses since they were five years old, and their parents had gotten accustomed to ignoring the child who was attached to their own child's hip, because, historically, he'd never had much to say to them.
"I'm fine," Kyle said. "Just achy. And my fingers are kinda numb."
"They are?" Stan said. He hadn't heard that complaint yet.
"I got that when I was pregnant," Sharon said. "In my wrists, too. It was around this time, I think - six months, yeah?"
"Yeah," Kyle said glumly. "Is my belly button going to go back to normal? All the websites say it will, and Terrell says it will, but it's so freakish, what if it doesn't-"
"It'll sink back in," Sharon said. "Don't worry, um. I think one advantage to having a baby when you're young is that your body snaps back into shape more easily."
"Well, who the hell knows," Kyle said. "Considering mine wasn't designed to do any of this."
"I'm - gonna go finish dinner," Sharon said, already backing away. "Stan, are you alright?" she asked, frowning.
"Huh?" he looked down at himself. "Yeah, why?"
"Nothing, you just look a little out of it. Um, give your mom a call, Kyle. You're welcome to stay, but she wants to hear from you."
She left, and Stan headed for the shower. He brushed his teeth while the water got hot, and the bathroom was steamy by the time he climbed in. It felt good to be alone, which alarmed him after a few moments of peace. In three months, he might never be alone again. Kyle was already over at the house more than he'd ever been before. Kyle used to crave alone time, too, for homework or just some time to shoot hoops and think. It wasn't that Stan wanted him to leave; he hated being away from Kyle more often than not. It was just nice not to talk, or have Kyle shifting against him until he found a marginally comfortable position, or to get distracted by the shape of Elway under Kyle's shirt and need to put his hand there in case some tiny movement might be detected. Thinking that he might be missing something right that second, Stan turned the water off and climbed out.
"No," Kyle said sharply as soon as Stan walked through the door. He was on his cell phone, frowning. "No, that's not true. You know that's not true."
Stan got dressed, aware that Kyle was talking to Sheila. There was a lot of scoffing and arguing, which wasn't unusual, but something about the pure venom in Kyle's voice made Stan nervous. He usually didn't talk to his mother that way.
"You should be more worried that I'm eating too much," Kyle said. "I had plenty. Yes, she did. They don't care, Mom! They love me! I'm their family now!"
There was a silence, and Stan could hear the ascending lilt of Sheila's disapproval.
"I am not paranoid!" Kyle said. "And that's not the reason I don't - no! It's not that! I need to be with Stan right now, mother. You have to let me - I'm not a little boy anymore! Oh, really?"
Kyle hung up the phone and tossed it on Stan's bed like he was spiking a football. It bounced and jumped off the mattress, catapulting onto the floor before Stan could catch it.
"Careful," Stan said. "You'll break it."
"So what? I don't want to talk to anybody. I just want to hide until this is over. I'm so tired of her opinions!"
"What's she mad about?" Stan asked while Kyle pulled on his socks. He seemed to be struggling with it a little, wobbling, and Stan readied himself to catch him if necessary.
"She still wants Terrell to examine me three times a week," Kyle said. "It's ludicrous. I'm stable. I have milk ducts, for fuck's sake. Everything's progressing according to schedule."
"It can't hurt to let him check," Stan said. "For your health-"
"My health is fine," Kyle said. "Drop it. I'm tired of being prodded. You know what I was just thinking about? They're going to want to study me for the rest of my life, periodically, to see how this whole experience ultimately affected me. Our baby, too," he said. He backed away from Stan's outstretched hands. "You don't get it," he said.
"Huh?" Stan said.
"Terrell isn't my doctor," Kyle said. "He's not working for me. He's in this for himself, studying the abnormality. And it's so like my mother to be on his side. Anybody who claims to have authority, she wants to hand me right over to them. Like this whole mission to get me to talk to a shrink. What, so he can write a book about the pregnant boy he treated? I don't fucking think so! This is her idea, and - fuck! Stan!"
"What?" Stan asked, his heart beating faster. He tried reaching for Kyle again, and was able to rest his hands on Kyle's shoulders. "What, dude?"
"I don't think the special needs scholarships people would have really given my information to these people who've been calling about interviews," Kyle said, his voice lowering. "I think my mom did."
"Dude, no. She wouldn't-"
"She wants me to sell my story!" Kyle said, pushing Stan's hands away. "She's said so before. She says I should do it intelligently before someone else gets the idea."
"That's - awful," Stan said. "I don't think she meant it."
"She says I'm prideful and that I've got to learn something about sacrifice if I want to have a kid." Kyle leaned into Stan's arms. "She makes me feel so guilty," he said, mumbling. "Like I should have known this might happen."
Stan was able to calm Kyle down, but he was quiet and sullen for the rest of the evening. They had individual Marie Calendar chicken pot pies for dinner, and Stan worried that Kyle was getting too much sodium and not enough green vegetables. Kyle went to bed early, and Stan stayed up watching TV with his dad for a while.
"Can I have a beer?" Stan asked when his father went to the kitchen for his third beer of the evening, which wasn't bad for Randy on a Saturday.
"Alright," Randy said after considering this for a moment. "I guess you're a man now and all."
"I guess," Stan said. Randy returned with the beer and Stan accepted it, clicking the neck of the bottle against Randy's when he tilted it forward.
"Don't tell your mom," Randy said.
"I don't think she'd care that much," Stan said. He drank some and returned his eyes to the TV. "Dad?" he said when Randy resumed his place on the other side of the couch.
"Yeah?"
"Why am I a man now?" Stan asked. "'Cause Kyle is pregnant?"
Randy took a long drink of beer. "I meant more 'cause you're eighteen," he said. "But I guess, well. You'll be a dad in three months, Stan. That's pretty big."
"So do you think Kyle is a man, too?" Stan asked. He picked at the label on his beer, not sure why this was bugging him. "Even though he's not eighteen for another month? Because he'll be a dad in three months, too?"
"Kyle is-" Randy said, and then there was a long pause. "Well. I'll put it this way. Kyle's not the one who went out and got a part time job."
"Dad, he's pregnant!" Stan said. "He gets back aches if he has to stand for a long time. He couldn't work a register for a seven hour shift."
"I'm just saying," Randy said. "I get the feeling there's always gonna be some kind of back ache that comes up when there's a job that needs doing."
"That's stupid," Stan said. "Kyle works way harder than me. He's got a partial academic scholarship to CSU. That's more of a fucking contribution than I've provided to our - financial situation."
"Look, I'm sorry I said anything." Randy drank, belched, and set his beer on the coffee table. "Kid just seems a little spoiled is all."
Stan went up to his bedroom as soon as he'd finished his beer, annoyed with his father. If Kyle were a girl, Stan's father wouldn't be calling him spoiled. It wasn't fair, and reminded Stan that, as willing as his father was to foot the bill for Kyle's Saturday night dinners, he still didn't really get the whole Kyle thing.
Kyle was asleep in the bed, or so Stan thought. As soon as Stan had finished undressing in the dark, Kyle moaned and rolled over to look at him.
"Dude," he said. "Can you get me some milk? And maybe some more Nutter Butters? I'm starving."
"I'd have to go out to the store for more Nutter Butters," Stan said, standing in the middle of the room in his underwear. Kyle stared at him, the pillow hugged to his cheek.
"Well, can't you?" he said. "It's only half past ten. The stores are still open."
"Dude, I just had a beer. I don't want to drive. What if I got pulled-"
"What are you doing drinking beer?" Kyle asked. "I'm sorry if dealing with me is driving you to utter despair, but-"
"Stop, dude! I just had a beer with my dad. It's no big deal."
"Fine, whatever," Kyle said, rolling toward the window. "I'll just lie here fucking starving to death while your offspring leeches nutrients from my swollen husk of a body."
"God, okay!" Stan started getting dressed. Kyle turned to frown at him.
"What are you doing?" he asked when Stan sat down to tie his shoes.
"Getting dressed to go to the store," Stan said. More Nutter Butters would essentially clean out his wallet. He'd have to borrow money from his dad if he wanted to meet Wendy and Kenny for brunch at Whistlin' Willy's as planned, and his father would ask him what he'd spent his last paycheck on, and would make judgmental but not inaccurate assumptions about Kyle when Stan answered vaguely.
"No, no, I don't want you to have to walk," Kyle said. "Just get me the milk. And some other kind of cookies. Whatever you guys have."
"We don't have any," Stan said, barely stopping himself from saying, You ate them all. "I think we might have some Goldfish."
"What flavor?"
"I don't know! Orange."
"Whatever," Kyle said, starting to cry. "Maybe I just won't eat. The baby can feed on my internal organs, why not? Maybe I should just go home."
"Dude, please," Stan said. He went to the bed and sat down beside Kyle, pulling him into a hug. "Don't be mad. I'm sorry we don't have any cookies, I wish we did-"
"I shouldn't eat them anyway," Kyle said, sniffling. He flopped his hand onto Stan's thigh. "Would you check my blood sugar?"
Stan did, and it was fine, though also true that Kyle didn't need anymore cookies that evening. Stan went downstairs to fetch a glass of milk and the bag of Goldfish. He knew Kyle didn't like to eat alone unless the food supply was very limited, so he joined him in polishing off the remainder of the bag.
"You taste like beer and salt," Kyle said when they were kissing sleepily, facing each other on the pillow. "Fucking – delicious," he said, yawning.
"The baby's not moving, is she?" Stan asked.
"No," Kyle said, scooting the bulge of his stomach more snugly against Stan's. "Why would she move? She's all cozy right there."
"Yeah," Stan said, grinning. Hearing Kyle say so was worth the various annoyances, dramas, and nagging worries of the day. He rested his hand on Kyle's hip, closed his eyes, and fell asleep without remembering set his alarm.
He still woke up in plenty of time to get ready for brunch. Kyle was sleeping deeply as Stan crept out of bed, and Stan gave him a very light kiss on the temple. He kissed Kyle's belly a bit more firmly before slipping out the door.
Whistlin' Willy's had been Kenny's idea. It was affordable, and they would be dining in a setting that they would all have to get accustomed to soon. Stan hadn't been to Whistlin' Willy's since he was eleven, and the wall of noise that hit him as soon as he pulled open the front door seemed vaguely threatening, whereas he supposed it had once excited him. He saw Wendy and Kenny sitting in one of the quieter tables near the restrooms.
"Morning," Kenny said as Stan took a seat beside him, across from Wendy. "How's your weekend been?"
"Okay," Stan said. "I gotta go to work in two hours."
"I have to work later, too," Kenny said.
"I thought the factory was closed on weekends?" Wendy said.
"It is," he said. "I got a Sunday night gig at a gas station."
"Oh." Wendy shuffled a bit. "I should get a job, shouldn't I?" she said.
"Nah, just let Liane pay for everything," Kenny said. "We won't think any less of you."
"It's not that," Wendy said, frowning. "It's - Liane is not exactly wealthy. And my parents do okay, but they hate Eric. And. And - oh, fuck. There's also this." She rooted around in her purse and pulled out a ring box.
"What's that?" Stan asked. It was a classy looking box, dark black velvet.
"Oh, shit," Kenny said. "Did Cartman-"
"I mean, look at this thing!" Wendy said. She popped open the box and set it on the table. Inside was a ring with an enormous, ostentatiously sparkly diamond solitaire on what looked like a platinum band.
"Fuck me!" Kenny said.
"Maybe it's fake," Stan said, feeling inadequate.
"I wish," Wendy said. "He spent all the Dateline money on it. Five thousand dollars! It's ludicrous. He thought it would impress me, but I flipped my shit. We should have that money for our baby, and rings like this depreciate as soon as you leave the store."
"Did you tell him that?" Stan asked.
"Aww, did you?" Kenny picked up the ring and moved the box around so that the overhead lights made it sparkle. "I bet you broke his fat little heart."
"No," Wendy said. "I told him it was too much, and I was going to go nuts on him for being so short sighted and stupid and childish, and for not knowing anything about the diamond industry, which is repulsive, okay, but then, he just - he gets this look on his face sometimes. Like this lost little boy."
"Oh, gross," Kenny said, setting the ring down. Wendy snatched it off the table and glared at him.
"Like the little boy thing isn't what you see in Butters," she said.
"Butters is more sexually and emotionally mature than both of your guys put together," Kenny said.
"Right," Wendy said. "I've heard all about his plan to melt his parents' icy hearts just by showing them your baby. As if they'll even look at her!"
"Hey, c'mon," Stan said. "Butters is doing the best he can. So is Cartman, I guess. That ring is ridiculous."
"I can't wear it," Wendy said. "I mean - I can't marry him. God! That's insane."
"So you told him no?" Stan said. Kenny was still pouting over her comments about Butters, toying with a napkin.
"I said I had a rule that I couldn't get married before I turned twenty-five." She rolled her eyes. "So he has seven years to convince me it could work."
"Should I ask Kyle to marry me?" Stan asked, worrying that Kyle would see this ring and feel neglected.
"I don't know," Wendy said. "Do you want to marry Kyle?"
"What a stupid question!" Kenny said, loud enough to get some mothers looking at them. "Of course he does. He's Stan. Wanting to marry Kyle is what he does."
"So ask him, then," Wendy said. "I'm not going to get all bent out of shape about it," she said, looking at Kenny.
"Kyle says we're already married - spiritually." Stan smacked Kenny's shoulder when he laughed. "He says he doesn't believe in the institution. But what if he's just saying that? Testing me or something?"
"If that's what he's doing, then he doesn't deserve a proposal," Wendy said. She groaned and put her elbows on the the table, pulling at her hair. "What am I going to do?" she asked. "I spent all of yesterday making goodie bags to give out at Eric's baby shower. What have I become? I have to answer Yale by the end of the month. They want five hundred dollars to reserve my spot. And then full tuition is due in July. That's twenty thousand dollars. That's for one semester."
"They didn't give you a scholarship?" Stan asked.
"No," Wendy said. "I'm eligible for some Pell Grant money, but that's seven thousand dollars, tops. For the year. My parents said they can give me ten thousand a year, so that's twenty-three thousand dollars of loan money that I'd have to apply for, per year. More if tuition goes up, which it probably will. Then there's law school. And books!"
"Dude, calm down," Kenny said. "I thought CSU offered you a full ride?"
"They did, because - well, I'm sorry, but because they'd be lucky to have a student like me! I'm giving up Yale, you guys. I'm really - giving it up."
"It sounds like it would have been financially unreasonable even without a baby," Stan said.
"I could have gotten scholarships for sophomore through senior year," Wendy said, muttering. "Maybe."
The rest of their brunch was depressing. Even the pizza was bad. Kids ran among the tables, shouting to each other and begging their mothers for more money to feed into the arcade games or the vending machines. Their mothers looked exhausted and old, quietly angry. Stan saw Wendy and Kenny watching all of this, too, their posture straight and tense, like gazelles who were preparing to bolt. Between the three of them, they couldn't even finish one large pizza.
"You guys are coming to the shower, right?" Wendy said as they walked her to her car.
"Sure," Kenny said. "I heard there were goodie bags."
He hugged her and passed her to Stan, who also promised to come. He knew Kyle would be curious enough to go with him.
"We're not spending two hundred bucks on Cartman's presents, though," Stan said. "Kyle is determined to make him a diaper cake."
"That's sweet," Wendy said. "We'd love that."
"You would? I think he's hoping Cartman would take it as some kind of insult."
Wendy left, and Stan sat with Kenny on a bench out in front of the apartment building next to Whistlin' Willy's. Stan had lived in those apartments with his mother and Shelly for a few months, though he barely remembered it. He'd been catatonic with depression, something he ended up being medicated for during most of middle school. He'd stopped taking the drugs when getting boners for Kyle became an important part of being happy.
"What if Butters' parents don't come around?" Stan asked.
"I got a plan," Kenny said.
"You keep saying that."
"Look, you'd just think I was crazy," Kenny said. "But trust me. I have a way to get money."
"Does it have to do with selling something illegal?" Stan asked, glancing over at him. Kenny kept his eyes on the road.
"Not strictly," Kenny said. "But it's a last resort kind of plan. I'm making okay money at the factory."
"Oh yeah?" Stan thought it couldn't be more than twenty thousand a year, though he supposed the McCormicks raised three kids on something close to that. Kenny smelled like a bar of cheap soap all the time now, which, as factories smells went, wasn't that bad. "That's good."
"I hope our daughters will be friends," Kenny said, and Stan started to laugh, but when he looked over at Kenny he looked very serious, almost tearful. Stan hugged him, and Kenny hugged back with just one arm, sniffling against Stan's shoulder a few times before he pulled free.
"They'll be best friends," Stan said.
"I hate to think of you guys stuck in South Park, though," Kenny said. "Butters, too. Shit, even Wendy, though it kinda serves her right for turning up her nose at a full scholarship from CSU. Butters only got a partial one."
"What about you?" Stan asked. Kenny laughed.
"I didn't even apply," he said.
"Why not?" Stan asked. "Your grades aren't terrible."
"Well, whatever Wendy thinks, they're looking for a little more than 'not terrible' at that school. But, no, it's okay. I'll look after the kid while Butters goes to class. It works."
"You're allowed to be sad about getting stuck in South Park yourself," Stan said. "You might have gotten out."
"Nah," Kenny said. "Me and South Park are married. Spiritually."
Stan laughed, pretending to know what he meant by that.
He went home and found Kyle on his computer, attempting to research Dr. Terrell. He had yet to come up with anything incriminating on the guy, and though Stan didn't trust Terrell implicitly, he did think that he meant Kyle no harm, whatever else his interests were, and that Kyle was only fixated on loathing him because he wanted someone other than Stan to blame for his pregnancy. Stan napped for twenty minutes, got dressed for work, and drove Kyle to his house on the way there.
"I wish I could just stay at your place," Kyle said, eying his house when they were parked in the driveway. "She's going to be on me as soon as I'm through the door."
"Just tell her you're tired," Stan said. "Fake some tears if you have to. She's your mom, dude. She doesn't want to stress you out. She thinks she's helping."
"That's the worst part," Kyle said.
Stan's Sunday shift was only five hours long, but that meant he got no break, and the minutes dragged by, especially after darkness fell outside and Stan's stomach began to grumble. He wished he'd eaten more of that crappy pizza, especially since he'd spent his last five bucks on his share of brunch. He considered stealing a candy bar and decided against it.
He got home around six thirty and found both his parents in the kitchen, working on dinner and a bottle of wine. It still cheered Stan to see them getting along, though half the time he thought they'd be better off apart. He was allowed to have some wine in exchange for peeling the carrots.
"Cartman proposed to Wendy," he said, knowing they would both appreciate this gossip.
"Oh, Jesus," Randy said. "Dr. Stick Up His Ass must have loved that." This was his nickname for Sharon's boss, who was also Wendy's father.
"Randy!" Sharon said. She turned to Stan. "Tom must have flipped out, though, really."
"I'm not sure that he knows," Stan said. "I don't think Cartman asked him for Wendy's hand. He just showed up with a huge diamond."
"Yikes," Sharon said. She poured a little more wine for Stan. "I'm assuming she turned him down?"
"Not quite, but she's not wearing the ring."
When dinner was ready they moved to the table, where Stan continued reporting on his night school classmates. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt as though he was capable of entertaining his parents just by talking. He felt like an adult, someone who had worked all day for his family, a real contributing member of the household.
There was a knock on the door just as Stan was clearing the plates, making room for the spice cake that his mother had made that afternoon. Randy went to answer it. Stan thought it must be Jimbo, because he was the only one who came by the house without calling first, but it wasn't him. It was Kyle.
"Dude!" Stan said. He put the plates down and hurried to Kyle, who was looking ragged and windblown, as if he'd walked there.
"Honey," Sharon said, following behind Stan. "What happened?"
Stan pulled Kyle into his arms before he could answer, rubbing his hands across Kyle's back to warm him. He was wearing his coat, but it was unbuttoned, and he was trembling.
"Mom and I fought," Kyle said. "It was terrible. I ran away."
"Oh," Sharon said, and she joined Stan in rubbing Kyle's back. Randy patted Kyle's shoulder awkwardly.
"That's alright, kiddo," he said. "It'll blow over."
"It won't!" Kyle said, lifting his face from Stan's chest. "I told her that I knew what she did, with the newspaper people, that she thought if they called me I'd give in and sell my story. She went through the roof. My dad, too. They called me ungrateful." Kyle's face pinched up, and he hid himself against Stan's chest again.
"Newspaper people?" Randy said.
"Shh!" Sharon said, swatting him away. "Come here, Kyle, come sit down. I'll give Sheila a call-"
"No, don't call her!" Kyle said. "I don't want her here. I never want to see her again." He pulled on Stan's shirt so hard that Stan was afraid it would rip. "She said I was a disappointment. That I broke her heart. She thinks I'm just this worthless slut." He hid his face again, moaning, and Sharon met Stan's eyes. Randy was backing away from the scene, toward the beer he'd left on the dinner table.
"Dude, no way," Stan said, petting Kyle's hair. "She doesn't think that."
"It sounds like a terrible fight, but Sheila loves you very much," Sharon said. "You know that."
"No, no," Kyle said, his voice muffled against Stan's sweater. He lifted his face and looked at Sharon. "Can I stay here?" he asked. "Can we live here, me and the baby? I can't live with her anymore, please."
"Ah -" Sharon looked at Stan, her mouth hanging open. Randy had frozen in mid-reach for his beer. "Of course, honey," she said, smoothing Kyle's hair. "Your - this baby, she's our grandchild. You're welcome here. But I have to call your mother, alright, to let her know you're safe."
"I don't want to talk to her," Kyle said, shaking his head. "Please."
"You don't have to," Sharon said. "Stan, why don't you take him upstairs? I'll bring you boys some milk and cake in a little bit, how's that?"
"Thank you," Kyle said. He pulled out of Stan's grip and hugged Sharon, who patted him awkwardly, still looking at Stan as if he should know what to do. Stan held his hands out to show her he was at a loss.
Upstairs, Kyle was quieter, though still trembling. They stretched out in Stan's bed, propped up on pillows against the headboard, and Kyle sniffled into Stan's chest while Stan ran his fingers over Kyle's back in what he hoped was a soothing fashion. He wanted to ask a lot of questions, but he was afraid to get Kyle going again.
"I guess she denied it?" Stan finally said. "About the newspaper people?"
"Of course." Kyle tipped his face up to Stan's. He looked awful, worn out and almost unrecognizably puffy. "They make me feel like an outsider now," Kyle said. "Even Ike. He's so nice to me, like he still thinks I'm dying."
"Well, you're not an outsider here," Stan said. "You're a Marsh." He still hadn't told Kyle about Cartman's proposal to Wendy. Kyle smiled and pressed his face to Stan's jaw, closing his eyes.
"That's nice," he said. "But I don't feel like a Marsh, either. Your dad thinks I'm a nutcase."
"He doesn't, dude, and even if he did. He's pretty fucking nuts himself, so who cares?"
"No, it's alright." Kyle sat up and wiped at his face. "Me and Elway aren't quite Marshes or Broflovskis. You know, and it's okay. I'm glad I have something in common with her."
"Kyle, you're gonna have a ton of stuff in common with her," Stan said. Kyle scoffed.
"I hope not," he said. "For her sake." He sat back a little further and looked down at his stomach, sliding one hand over it. "I think I really hurt my mom," he said, softly.
"She'll get over it," Stan said. "That's what moms do. They take a lot of flack."
"What if she says horrible things to me someday?" Kyle asked.
"Dude, your mom wouldn't-"
"No, not her, she's already said some pretty bad shit. I meant Elway. What if she hates me and accuses me of sabotaging her?"
"I'm sure if she did, she'd go to her friend's house and worry that she hurt your feelings. Because she'll be sweet, like you." Stan pulled Kyle to him again.
"So now we're friends?" Kyle said. "I'm at my friend's house, worrying about this?"
"No, Kyle, you're my fucking husband, as far as I'm concerned. I guess I'm just not ready to picture our unborn daughter going to her boyfriend with emotional troubles. Sorry, bad choice of words."
"Well. Yes, and if you'd wanted to draw a really accurate parallel, it would have been 'girlfriend,' I guess."
"Fine, her girlfriend," Stan said. "As long as it's not Kinglet Cartman." Kyle laughed a little and pressed his forehead to Stan's.
"So I guess I live here now," he said, and Stan hadn't seen that coming, but he smiled as if he had.
Stan fully expected Sheila to bustle in and collect Kyle the following morning, but she did not. Stan packed their dinner for school as usual, and there was no word from Kyle's parents when they got home from class. As accustomed as Stan was to having Kyle with him during the weekend, it was strange to have him there on a Monday night. Kyle seemed determined to act as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He dressed in Stan's clothes, used Stan's toiletries in the bathroom, and insisted on loading the dishwasher after dinner. Stan's mother discreetly removed the steak knives and wine glasses before running it.
On Tuesday afternoon, Ike showed up with Kyle's remaining books, some clothes, and other personal effects. Stan brought him upstairs, where Kyle was attempting to get someone on the phone about his the status of his scholarship applications. He'd applied for single parent scholarships, young mother scholarships, and scholarships for entering freshmen who were suffering from 'miscellaneous life altering conditions' - diseases so rare that they didn't have their own dedicated scholarship foundations.
"Could you just come home?" Ike asked as Kyle inspected the things he'd brought.
"No," Kyle said. "I like it better here."
"But mom is awful," Ike said. "She snaps at us for everything. You accused her of selling your body, Kyle."
"I did not!" Kyle said, throwing a pair of socks back into the duffel he'd pulled them from. "I said that she was trying to bully me into making money off of my condition, which is true."
"No, it's not!" Ike said. "She wouldn't tell magazine editors to call you! She wants you to make some money off of this if you can, but she wouldn't betray your privacy like that."
"Oh, bullshit," Kyle said. "She'll go to any lengths to make me suffer if she thinks she knows that I'll benefit from it in the long run. Remember ooky mouth?"
"No," Ike said.
"I do," Stan said, irritated by its mention. He still didn't like the thought of Kyle and Kenny spending a whole afternoon exchanging spit, even if they had been eight years old and tricked into doing it by their mothers.
Ike left and Kyle stayed. There was no call from Kyle's mother that night, or the night after. On Thursday morning, Stan went down for breakfast early, unable to sleep because he kept waking up thinking he felt the baby moving, only to realize that no part of him was touching Kyle's belly. His father had already left for work, and his mother was preparing to, tucking her yogurt and an apple in with the sandwich she'd made for her lunch.
"Have you heard from Kyle's mom?" Stan asked, checking the kitchen doorway to make sure Kyle hadn't uncharacteristically roused before noon.
"No," Sharon said. "She was a little short with me when I called her that night. I think she's embarrassed. Or maybe she thinks we're stealing Kyle and the baby away from her."
"Will he live here, though?" Stan asked. "After we have - after the baby comes?"
"He can if that's what you two want," Sharon said. She seemed to consider saying more, but then only smiled and walked over to kiss Stan's cheek. "It wouldn't be an easy commute to CSU," she said.
"I don't think I'm going to go," Stan said. He expected an argument, or at least shock, but his mother only smoothed his hair.
"There's always next year," she said. "Things will be more settled then." She didn't seem sure of that at all, and when she hurried to leave the kitchen Stan thought it seemed like she was holding in tears.
Cartman's baby shower was on Saturday afternoon, and Stan had to miss the first two hours of it for work. He was tired by the time he clocked out, not in the mood for Cartman or any of the others, and certainly not in the mood for Mr. Garrison, who had frightened all the boys in class the night before, during a lesson on the horrors of the placenta. Apparently some people ate them. He'd announced this just before dinner.
"How's it coming?" Stan asked when he saw Kyle and his mother in the living room, putting the finishing touches on a "cake" made of diapers. Stan's mother had done most of the work, but Kyle had added a few touches that were surprisingly thoughtful. Apparently "frogs and lily pads" was the theme of the nursery, and Kyle had found a couple of plush, smiling frogs to stick on the top of the tower of diapers like a wedding cake topper. There was also a little spoon with a frog on it tied around the middle, secured with a green ribbon with white polka dots.
"I can't wait to see him try to throw us out over this," Kyle said. He stood up with a groan, bracing himself on the coffee table, and Stan hurried to help him. Kyle was slightly breathless just from standing, or from diaper cake construction. "These diapers will really come in handy," Kyle said, giving Stan a look like he had just endorsed a political candidate and wanted his sincere agreement.
"Yes," Stan said, feeling as if he might pass out from sheer exhaustion.
The party was well underway by the time they arrived, and Stan wasn't surprised to see that Wendy's baby shower games had devolved into everyone taking turns playing Halo on Cartman's Xbox. Wendy seemed bored, and she hurried over to hug Stan and Kyle as they came through the door.
"Kenny has a flask," Wendy whispered to Stan while Kyle brought the diaper cake over to the present table. "In case you need a drink, like me. Just don't let any of, you know, them see you."
"Got it," Stan said, glancing at Kenny, who grinned at him as if he knew exactly what Stan was thinking. "Where's Butters?" Stan asked as he walked over to him. "Still grounded?"
"Grounded for life," Kenny said. He was slurring a little, and seemed like he'd done some pre-gaming in addition to whatever sips he'd been sneaking from the flask.
"Just what the hell is that thing?" Cartman asked when he wandered over to examine the new addition to his present table. "It doesn't look like a fucking blender, a dual-action massaging footbath, a Frog Critter Chair, or a complete set of Harlington Nursery Bedding, which was what you fuckers were supposed to show up with!"
"Dude, I didn't get you a Playstation 3 and you still let me in," Token said. "And that thing looks - totally cool, Kyle," he said, eying it warily.
"Diapers?" Cartman said. "What the hell do I need diapers for?"
"For your baby's ass," Kyle said. He'd already found a seat on the couch and had a plate full of Liane's chicken salad and some cheese cubes.
"Hello, Jew, that's what food stamps are for!" Cartman said. "Or welfare, or whatever the hell I can get my hands on in terms of free ride money. Gifts are supposed to be luxury items, the kind of shit the government won't buy for me!"
"Eric, sit down," Wendy said. "You're getting worked up. Remember what Dr. Loretta said about stress." She patted Cartman's back and guided him back to the couch while he muttered about how he was really counting on getting that Critter Chair.
"Wow, you came," Stan said to Craig, who was seated in a wingback chair to the left of the present table. Tweek was perched on the arm of the chair, knitting furiously with some pale yellow yarn.
"I'm not gonna lie," Craig said. "I came for the food." He touched his baby bump self-consciously. There was a green and white party plate resting atop it, littered with crumbs. "I heard you guys are living together now," Craig said, eying Kyle, who was distracted by the game. Clyde and Kenny were playing, Kenny doing an shameless giggle thing that made his drunkenness pretty obvious.
"Who told you that?" Stan asked.
"Ike," Craig said.
"When the hell do you see Ike?"
"He's my dealer," Craig said.
"Uh," Stan glanced at Tweek, who was still knitting intently, apparently not perturbed by this. "You're still buying drugs?"
"Not a drug dealer!" Tweek said, looking up. "Fabric!"
"Fabric." Stan's eyes slid back to Craig's.
"He has connections," Craig said. "At those prices, I don't want to know how." Craig held up his plate. "Get me like four more of those sandwiches," he said.
"Can't Tweek do it?" Stan asked.
"He's knitting!" Craig said, so forcefully that Tweek shouted, his needles moving even faster. Stan grabbed the plate and hurried for the sandwiches.
The shower ended up being mostly enjoyable, possibly because Stan managed to sneak multiple sips from Kenny's flask, which was full of vodka. The food was delicious, mostly due to Liane, though Wendy's contributions weren't bad. Mr. Garrison showed up eventually. He had no date, and was toting a bottle of champagne and an unwrapped breast pump.
"I figure you're gonna get sick of having something sucking the juice out of you eventually," Garrison said as he presented the breast pump to Cartman. "Not that I'd know. Or, well, maybe I would—"
"Thanks, Mr. Garrison," Wendy said, taking the pump from Cartman as if it was a poisonous snake that she was rescuing him from.
There was a professional-looking chocolate cake made by Liane and a sunken apple pie made by Wendy, and though the cake was much better, Cartman ate three pieces of the pie. Though Stan didn't notice her taking any sips from Kenny's flask, Wendy seemed to be getting a little tipsy as the group moved toward the present table. She was hugging Cartman from behind as he selected and opened his presents, kissing his cheek and endlessly adjusting the paper crown that either she or Liane had made for him.
"Wow, thanks, Clyde!" Cartman said as he tore one open. "You actually got me something I asked for!" He held it up – it was a black baby harness with a red and orange flames on the front. "Heh," Cartman said, trying it on. "This thing is bad ass."
"Oh, Eric, that's adorable," Wendy said, stumbling a little as she turned in circles, looking for something. "Where's my phone? I want to take a picture."
"I've got the camera right here, Wends," Liane said, her tone dripping with sweetness that seemed faintly aggressive. Wendy steadied herself on Cartman's shoulders and knelt down, throwing out a peace sign as Liane snapped a picture.
Kyle sat in Stan's lap while Cartman opened presents, and Stan was distracted by the smell of Kyle's skin, feeling drunk. He watched from over Kyle's shoulder as Cartman unwrapped surprisingly nice-looking handmade baby clothes from Craig and a knit blanket from Tweek. Butters had passed his gift along with Kenny: soft little monogrammed towels with the initials KTC on them.
"It's too bad Wendy's name doesn't start with an 'F,'" Kyle said.
"What the fuck does that mean?" Cartman asked, groping for the diaper cake.
"Then your daughter's initials would be KFC," Clyde said while everyone else waited for Cartman to figure it out. "Like your favorite food," Clyde added while Cartman glared at Kyle.
"Whatever, Kyle," Cartman said. "Thanks a lot for the lame present, Jesus. I just can't wait until you and your butt buddy over there invite my Kinglet to your kid's stupid bat mitzvah. Kinglet will bring a tower of tampons for a gift, how's that?"
"Hey, fuck you!" Kyle said, standing. "My gift is thoughtful! It's got frogs!"
"Thoughtful?" Cartman scoffed. "It's like a monument to all the shit I'll be wiping off my kid's ass for the next two years! Thanks so much for the reminder. It's like the ultimate Jew gift, really, because it steals your happiness from you as soon as you look at it."
"Cartman, Jesus!" Stan said. "Don't be a dick, Kyle worked hard on that."
"Seriously, are you not getting how lucky you are to even have friends?" Kyle said. "And still all you can do is complain that they're not buying you – ah!"
"Kyle?" Stan stood and grabbed Kyle's elbows. "What's wrong? What?"
"Nothing – ah – c'mere." Kyle took Stan's hand and led him away from the circle of chairs. There were various protests and questions from the crowd, but Stan couldn't hear any of them clearly, too worried about the look that had come over Kyle's face.
"What?" Stan asked when they were standing in the middle of the empty hallway that led toward the basement stairs. "What's wr—"
Kyle took Stan's hand and brought it to his stomach, smiling. Stan realized what was happening and was afraid he was too late, or that he wouldn't be able to feel it, and he barked out a half-laugh, half-sob when he felt the kick under his palm, and then another, and another.
"She hates Cartman, too, I think," Kyle said. "Or objects to this whole tampon tower plot, or— " Stan kissed Kyle hard, his eyes watering, then dropped to his knees to kiss his belly.
"This is—" Stan said, looking up at Kyle. "It's not like Clyde's," Stan said. "It's different." It was better, stronger, and more perfect in some way that he couldn't figure out how to describe.
"She's really restless all of a sudden," Kyle said, combing his fingers through Stan's hair.
"I feel like I should say something," Stan said, still cupping Kyle's stomach as the baby's movements calmed and stopped.
"To me or her?" Kyle asked.
"I don't know," Stan said. "Kyle, um. She's really in there."
"Yeah, no kidding." Kyle was smiling again as Stan stood up, his fingers spread over the spots where he'd felt their baby moving. "You thought I was making the whole thing up to justify my weight gain?"
Stan kissed him, arching over his belly so he could reach Kyle's lips. He felt another tiny stirring as he pressed against Kyle, and he laughed into Kyle's mouth, wondering if she could feel it when they were together, when they were apart, and when they were happy or upset. He thought of what Cartman had said, something about a bat mitzvah. Elway would be thirteen, embarrassed by her parents, maybe a little awkward, nervous about dancing with boys. Stan hadn't even considered which religion they would raise her with, but he thought maybe both would be appropriate – he wanted her to have every holiday, every excuse for presents, everything.