17. Lottie

LOTTIE

S am waddles over and plops down next to Carlotta, right here in the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery.

Effie and Lily get back to work, so I nod over at Noah’s twin.

“What can I get for you, Sam?” She’s dressed in an odd denim-looking jumpsuit—a bladder trap if ever there was one. I wouldn’t dare wear a jumpsuit on a regular day, let alone if I were nine months pregnant.

Hey? Maybe Sam’s baby has eaten all of her brain cells, too?

Nevertheless, her skin is piqued and she looks sweaty.

“I just came from a class called Pop, Lock, and Labor,” she says. “It’s essentially a hip hop-themed birthing class.”

“But Noah and I just went to a bunch of birthing classes with you,” I tell her. It’s true. Just last month, Sam pleaded with Noah and me to help her out in the baby department since the goof that impregnated both her and Meg has opted out—read wimped out —of the labor and delivery room. I lean her way. “Noah is going to be your coach when the time comes, remember?”

I may have agreed to the birthing class, but I never swore on a stack of Bibles that I’d show up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, in the muck and mire of the delivery room.

And personally, I can’t believe Noah signed up for the effort either. She’s his sister. Body parts are going to be on full display. There are just some things in life you can’t unsee. But as it stands—tag, he’s it.

“I remember all about it.” Sam shoots me a look as if she heard every thought that just flitted through my mind.

Sam isn’t transmundane, is she? There is an offshoot of the transmundane who can read minds. They’re called telesensuals, and I happen to have a friend in Maine named Bizzy Baker Wilder who can do just that—read minds.

Hey? Maybe I should fly Bizzy out to read Sam’s mind, to see if she’s reading mine? Plus, that way Bizzy and I could make a long girls’ weekend out of it and it would be a blast. I could hang out with one of my besties while Noah stains his brain with whatever is lying in wait under his sister’s hood.

Sam sniffs. “No offense to you or Lainey, but that class was boring.”

I gasp because indeed it was Lainey who taught those so-not-boring birthing classes.

“I want this new adventure to start with a new adventure.” Sam pats her belly. “Anyway, I just had my last class. I swear, if my baby doesn’t come out doing the worm, I want a refund.”

Carlotta belts out a laugh. “What’s next? Pole dancing in the delivery room?” She looks my way. “I guess that would be Meg’s department.”

I grunt, “Nothing would surprise me anymore.”

“Go ahead and laugh it up, you two,” Sam says, picking up a chocolate éclair off Carlotta’s plate. “Not only am I far more limber because of that class, but I bet my kid comes out with some serious rhythm.”

“Well, the twins are already coordinated when it comes to their moves.” Now it’s my turn to pat my belly. “We’re covered in that department.”

“I’m covered, too.” Not one to be left out, Carlotta practically sings the words. “For the record, let’s just say Harry is mighty impressed with my flexibility.”

I toss another éclair her way, although I know darn well there aren’t enough donuts in the world to stop her.

But before the TMI Express can leave its station from Carlotta’s mouth, I lean in toward Noah’s sister.

“Sam, you have to tell me if Suze has clued you in on what might be going on with her as of late. What in the heck has she gotten herself mixed up in?”

Sam opens her mouth then closes it and shoots a frosty look in her mother’s direction.

A breath hitches in my throat.

“Oh my word.” My voice hikes to new heights. “You know something!”

“No, I don’t,” Sam says, plopping the rest of her éclair onto Carlotta’s plate and struggling to get back on her feet. “In fact, I just remembered that I gotta be somewhere. Anywhere,” she says as starts to waddle off.

She doesn’t take two steps before she doubles over in pain, clutching at her belly.

“Somebody help,” she calls out in a panic. “The baby’s coming!”

Just my luck. Sam’s hood is about to pop open and Noah is nowhere in sight.

Tag, I’m it.