Though I was the photographer, Freya was the art director. “Move closer. I don’t want my feet in the photo,” she instructed me. Or “Stand on my left. I have a zit on my right cheek.” She inspected the photos as we went, insisting I delete or edit any unflattering shots. “Why would you shoot me from that angle?” she’d gripe. “I look morbidly obese.” She didn’t, of course, but perhaps my infatuation was messing with my critical eye. To me, she was perfection in every image.

She wasn’t always bossy and demanding. She could be inquisitive and considerate, too. One day, as I shot her at the breakfast table eating plant-based protein patties couriered to her in a portable cooler (the same kind used to transport donated organs), she asked after Eckhart.

“How’s your baby brother doing?” Her lips barely moved as she held a forkful of patty to her glossy mouth.

“He’s good. Now that he’s finally over his colic.”

“What’s colic?”

Jesus. She was in for a rude awakening. I lowered the camera. “It’s when a baby screams its head off for weeks, or in Eckhart’s case, months, for no apparent reason.”

Freya made a face like she’d actually eaten the unpleasant patty. “Does every baby get that?”

“No. My other brothers were pretty happy. I think Leonard had it for a couple of weeks, which was pretty manageable.”

“How do you make it stop?”

“Sometimes swaddling helps. Or a walk or a car ride. But I think you just have to let it pass.”

“You know a lot about babies, don’t you?”

Enough to know I don’t want any, I was about to say, but then thought better of it. Freya was in too deep, and there was only one way out now. She was going to give birth to a baby who would poop and scream and puke and whine and keep her up all night. I didn’t want to scare her. Or scare her more. So I said, “With three younger siblings, I guess I’ve picked up a few tips.”

Freya dropped the fork, signaling that our shoot was over. “I’m really going to need you after the baby’s born.”

My jaw clenched as she took the plate and dumped the patties into the trash. I’d spent my life around the stinking little creatures, but that didn’t mean I liked them. Especially this one. Freya’s baby was sure to be adorable, wrapping both its parents around its teeny finger. It would turn them into pathetic, lovestruck sycophants, responding to its every whimper, indulging its every whim. Like some prehistoric giant squid, it would suck up all its parents’ time and energy. I already resented the thing.

But I liked the thought of Freya needing me. So I said nothing.

Chapter 37

37

jamie