I was quiet post–doctor’s appointment, so Mom did what lots of moms do and bought my happiness with McDonald’s. It wasn’t good for me—I was pretty sure I was eating actual plastic, like that fake Fisher-Price food kids play with—but it tasted good and was salty. Also, it was one food that hadn’t become a toxic barf factory for me post-fetus, and for that I was grateful.

Grateful and gnawing on my second cheeseburger.

“Gotta pack up the rest of the kitchen,” she said as we pulled onto the main route that’d get us home. I nodded and crammed about sixty billion french fries into my mouth because I wasn’t proud. “I can’t believe we’re moving tomorrow. Are you ready for this?”

After Mormor’s snippa lesson at brunch, the visit with the doctor and the unpleasant news that I had to visit my new school next week to do both course selection and talk to a guidance counselor because I was pregnant? No, I wasn’t ready. Not for any of it.

But, of course, I was far too lazy to articulate that so I shrugged and ate more fries.

We got home. We packed. Most of the apartment was ready to go. Mom started carrying things down to the car, and when I bent to follow her and help, she tsked and swatted me away.

“Nope. No preggers carrying boxes. I love you, kid, but you’re as useless as tits on a bull right now.”

“I... Wait. What?”

“No heavy lifting. It’s in the preggo contract.”

“Oh.” And so I had the unpleasant reality of watching my mother loading boxes into the car with no one to help her. It didn’t seem fair, particularly with the amount of boxes we had to pack, her diminutive stature and the fact that my poor life choice had put us in the situation, so I did the only thing I could think to do in a dire situation.

Emotionally manipulate my best friend.

Wifey, I texted, my fingers gliding over the phone and smearing it with McDonald’s grease. I dashed at it with a napkin but that only served to make bigger smears that’d require Windex or maybe a flamethrower.

Wut up.

Can you help my mom pack boxes into the car? Preggos can’t lift.

There was a pause before I received, Kinda hate you rn.

I know. Please? I’ll buy u a bcn double chzburgr.

Two chzburgrs but u suk.

“Devi’s coming to help,” I said to Mom. She frowned as she looped back around to pack more stuff.

“She doesn’t have to do that.”

“No, but she does ’cause she rules. She’s the best bestie that ever bested, so. I’ll be right back. Getting her bribery cheeseburgers.”