Kate hurries back to her table, where Gerry waits, his fingers drumming quietly against the white tablecloth. She slides into her seat, smoothing her skirt beneath her.
"Can you believe someone would bring a baby to a place like this?" She gestures vaguely toward the commotion behind them.
Gerry's lips twist into a smirk. "Some people don't know how to manage their time."
"You know, I've always been intrigued by the management style at Food Chain—"
"Tell me about yourself," Gerry interrupts, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.
A fresh wave of wailing cuts through the restaurant's carefully cultivated ambiance. Kate's thoughts scatter like startled birds, but she grasps at her rehearsed response.
"Well," she straightens her spine, falling into her pitch voice, "I've signed numerous accounts for many Fortune 500 companies—Mitsubishi, IBM—"
"Excuse me." The coat check girl materializes from out of nowhere at their table, her black uniform sporting an impressive array of spit-up stains. In her arms, a red-faced Elizabeth howls.
"Your baby just threw up all over me."
"This isn't my—" Kate starts, but the girl is already depositing Elizabeth into her arms. The protest dies in her throat as the coat check girl fixes her with a look that could curdle milk.
"As I was saying," Kate soldiers on, juggling the squirming toddler while trying to maintain her professional facade, "I attended Harvard and Yale, and I certainly don't have any children—" She automatically shifts Elizabeth to her hip, bouncing slightly, and the crying subsides to hiccuping sniffles. It's only when she pauses for breath in her recitation of client testimonials that she notices the sudden quiet.
Across the table, Gerry leans back in his chair, watching her with knowing amusement dancing in his eyes. Kate glances down at Elizabeth, now contentedly playing with her necklace, and feels her carefully constructed image crumbling by the second.
Kate stumbles down aisle seven of the C-Town, her neighborhood supermarket. Elizabeth perched awkwardly on her hip, making every step a balancing act as Kate's shoulder bag slid treacherously down her arm. She stops at the diaper section, scanning the familiar brands.
"Huggies or Pampers—not exactly Sophie's choice," she mutters. Elizabeth, transfixed by the rainbow of packaging, offers no opinion.
Kate squints at the size chart. "Twelve to twenty-three pounds... newborn... toddler... God, why isn't this simpler?" She sets her bag down and lifts Elizabeth skyward as if the fluorescent lights might reveal her weight. Elizabeth responds with a delighted giggle.
"This is ridiculous," Kate declares. Spotting the produce section, inspiration strikes. She abandons her bag mid-aisle and carries Elizabeth to the scale, carefully supporting the toddler's head as she checks the reading. Just under twenty-three pounds. Perfect.
Back in the diaper aisle, she snags her bag from the floor and grabs a 96-count package of size 4 Huggies, rated for twenty to thirty-seven pounds. Mission accomplished.
At her apartment, Kate manages to wrangle the door open. She deposits her bag just inside, letting Elizabeth toddle toward the couch while the diapers land unceremoniously on the foyer floor. The toddler, already mastering the art of furniture climbing, scrambles onto the couch. Kate follows, curious.
Once she is settled on the couch, she looks up at Kate and says,
"Hi," Elizabeth chirps and waves with her small hand.
Kate waves back. "Hi."
This sparks a thirty-second exchange of "hi's" that would put a parrot to shame until Kate attempts to broach the subject of dinner. Elizabeth responds with her best blank stare.
"Right. Asking an eighteen-month-old about meal preferences. Brilliant," Kate mutters. "I need a drink."
She eyes Elizabeth carefully.
"Listen, kiddo. Five minutes. That's all I need. Think you can avoid major catastrophes until then if I leave to get changed out of this outfit?"
Elizabeth's tiny wave seems promising enough. Kate turns away, making what she'll soon realize is her first major mistake of the day.
Will's day has been the kind that makes corporate drones question their life choices. He's banking on the sanctuary of the apartment he shares with Kate to salvage what's left of his sanity. The door yields too easily to his key, but he chalks it up to imaginary gym gains rather than it being unlocked.
As he sorts through mail near the entrance, Elizabeth slides off the couch, drawn to a particularly fascinating sculpture. Will, oblivious to his tiny new roommate, sinks into the couch and opens an outdoor catalog, already picturing himself in a pair of rugged hunting boots.
That's when Elizabeth makes her move. She toddles over and swipes at his catalog with all the grace of a mini-ninja. Will leaps up like he's been shocked, performing an impromptu gymnastics routine to avoid crushing her, though he does manage to knock her off balance.
"What the hell!"
His outburst triggers instant waterworks from Elizabeth, whose wails could probably be heard in New Jersey.
Kate bursts in from the bedroom, clothes askew mid-change. Will's eyes ping-pong between Kate and the crying toddler.
"What," he gestures wildly at the baby, "is this?"
"If you need me to explain what a baby is, we have bigger problems," Kate deadpans.
"I know it's a baby. Why is it here?"
"She," Kate corrects sharply. "Is Elizabeth."
"Fine. Why is Elizabeth here?"
"Remember that inheritance call from last night?"
Will's face drops. "No. No way. We're corporate people, Kate. We don't do babies."
"She has no one else, Will!"
"There has to be a loophole. You do have a copy of the will, right?"
Kate retrieves the document, and Will spends the next twenty-five minutes playing amateur lawyer before triumphantly pointing to a clause.
"Look! You can find adoptive parents. We have an out!"
Kate's delayed response makes him nervous.
"You do want out... right?"
"Of course," she answers too quickly. "What else would I want?"
"Thank God. For a second there, I thought I heard your biological clock going nuclear." He drops the will on the counter where Kate's attempting to prepare Elizabeth's drink.
"Please," Kate scoffs, juggling both baby and her sippy cup.
"First thing tomorrow, I'm calling whoever handles adoptions. But for now—here, take her."
Will backpedals, hands up in surrender. "No way. I've never held a baby."
"And you think I have?" Kate thrusts Elizabeth toward him.
Will reluctantly accepts the handoff, holding Elizabeth like she's made of nitroglycerine while Kate refills the cup.
"We both have master's degrees," Kate reasons. "How hard can one baby be? Eight hours tops, then Child Services takes over. Simple."
Later, Kate proudly presents her culinary masterpiece—a pasta dish worthy of Manhattan's finest restaurants. Elizabeth eyes it suspiciously from her booster seat. Kate dashes to grate fresh Parmesan over the top.
"Bon appétit, Elizabeth!"
Elizabeth studies the linguine, picks up her spoon, and then promptly discards it in favor of her hands. She methodically creates pasta piles on either side of her plate before launching an impromptu food fight without anyone challenging her. Within seconds, linguine decorates the kitchen like abstract art, dangling from the ceiling fan and clinging to the blinds.
Kate and Will stand frozen, watching pasta rain down around them, as Elizabeth sits triumphant before her empty plate.
The amount of mess an eighteen-month-old can create defies comprehension. Will scrubs at the vertical blinds while Kate attacks the wall and floor around Elizabeth's chair. The toddler sits contentedly in her seat, covered in pasta and red sauce, watching the grown-ups clean with what can only be described as smug satisfaction. She giggles, and they pause to look at her, neither quite sure what's going on in that tiny head.
"Kate, I think it would be easier if we just moved," Will says.
Kate, wielding her spray bottle of Fantastic like a weapon, rolls her eyes.
"You're overreacting, Will. You're just cleaning the blinds! Look at this, this—it's everywhere. The floor, the walls, the counter." Not knowing how to describe the mess she is currently cleaning up. She absently sprays Elizabeth's arm and starts wiping. Will sees this and looks at her questioningly before saying,
"Come on, Kate. I may not be a baby person, but even I know the difference between baby wipes and household cleaner." Will gives her a pointed look.
Later, Elizabeth lies naked on their bedroom floor, rolling side to side while playing with Kate's phone. Kate studies the directions on the Huggies package like it's advanced calculus.
"Bring diaper between baby's legs, release tapes and press firmly on diaper front keeping it tight against the baby's abdomen, affix tape strip," she reads aloud.
She pulls out a diaper and tugs at one of the tape strips. It comes off the back and instantly adheres to her fingers. Behind her, Will snickers from behind his laptop.
Frustrated, Kate tries again. And again. A pile of mangled diapers grows beside her, each one a testament to her failing battle with the adhesive strips. On her eleventh attempt, she manages to get both strips free at once. She positions the diaper against Elizabeth's side, trying to wrap it around, but Elizabeth performs an expert escape maneuver. The diaper ends up wrapped around one chubby leg, tape strips stuck to her skin.
Will glances up from his spreadsheet just in time to see Elizabeth, still half-naked, climb onto Kate's side of the bed. He removes his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. Fatal mistake. Within seconds, Elizabeth snatches them up, examining them with intense concentration. When she can't figure out how to wear them, she experiments with bending the arms in opposite directions. Will accepts his now-pretzel-shaped glasses with a sigh, mentally kicking himself for leaving them within reach.
In desperation, Kate produces a roll of electrical tape while Will holds up a fresh diaper. Together, they manage to create something that technically qualifies as a covering. Not pretty, but it'll work until bedtime.
They settle Elizabeth between them on the bed and return to their laptops, leaving her to entertain herself. She discovers the TV remote, accidentally hitting the power button. Neither adult moves to stop her as she channelsurfing, finding cartoons that make her laugh. But her amusement is short-lived, and she clicks again, landing on news coverage of a school shooting in Texas. Her face crumples, and she begins to wail.
"Kate, are you going to do something?" Will demands when he looks up from his laptop.
She stares at him. "How would I know what to do? I've never owned a baby before!"
Will's patience snaps. He scoops Elizabeth up and places her near the headboard, making sure she's looking at him.
"Elizabeth, it is 11:53, and it's time for sleep. We both have work to do, and we need peace and quiet. Elizabeth, grow up. I have a conference in Boston tomorrow morning and I need to concentrate. Now, I want you to lie down, close your eyes, and stop crying by the time I count to three."
Elizabeth shakes her head vigorously, which only irritates Will further.
"Elizabeth, do not shake your head no at me. I'm speaking to you. Are you ready?"
Surprisingly, her cries begin to subside as Will starts counting. "One... two... two and a half... three! There, it worked!" he announces triumphantly.
Kate watches in amazement as Will leans in closer to Elizabeth.
"Okay, Elizabeth, give Uncle Will a kiss goodnight now."
He moves in for the kiss—and jerks back suddenly, clutching his nose.
"Kate, she just bit me!"