Making His Baby(212)

By: Lulu Pratt



Mom and I grab the last table and pull it open, settling it onto the grass and making sure it’s not going to wobble, and we head for the patio, where Zane is finishing the lights.

“Tables down, lights done,” Zane says, jumping from the last rung of the ladder. “What else have we got to do, Mom?”

“Your dad and I have the living room cleared, so as soon as the flowers get here, we’ll be ready to finish everything up,” Bev says.

“Do you want any help with the food before people start arriving?” Mom starts sorting through the candles, putting them into the groups that they should be in for the tables, and I help her.

“I think I’ve got it under control,” Bev replies. “Besides, aren’t you bringing something too?”

“We’re going to make a couple of things,” I say. “That yogurt dip everyone likes and Mom talked me into making pasta salad.”

“I didn’t know you knew how to cook,” Zane says, giving me a little look that I might have thought was flirty coming from anyone else. “Five years out of high school and you’ve become the perfect woman.”

“She works too much for that,” Mom counters. “Never goes out, always staying up late on some project.”

“That’s because she hasn’t found a guy to sweep her off her feet yet,” Bev says. “Besides, nothing wrong with a woman who isn’t afraid of a little hard work. Most men are hard work.” She gives Zane a nudge. “If this one ever finds someone willing to put up with his crap, I will get down on my knees and worship her as a saint.”

“I thought you army types got married young,” I tell Zane.

“Some do,” he admits. “The rest of us enjoy being footloose and fancy free for a while.”

“Neither of our children is ever going to give us grandkids,” Bev tells my mom with a sigh. “Maybe we should pool money and adopt a grandchild.”

I roll my eyes and Zane does too. “Haven’t you heard? Our generation in general is having kids later,” I point out. “It isn’t that you won’t get grandkids, it’s that it’s not financially feasible for us to give them to you until we’re over thirty.”

“You tell ‘em,” Zane says.

“All right, all right,” Bev says. “I can wait a few more years to have grandkids. But if neither of you are married in five years, we’re going to get you both green card spouses.”

“Besides, how do either of you expect to get to twenty-five years of marriage if you don’t get started until you’re over thirty?” My mom asks.

“As proud of you as I’m sure both of us are,” I say, “I don’t know if I can even imagine being married for twenty-five years.”



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