Note as of 10/06/10:

I wrote this story years ago, and played with it on and off while I was working with my Woman's World (Antebellum) novel. I have an agent now, and Antebellum is on submissions to publishers, so I have taken down that content. This book is still years and many edits away from being published, so I figured I might as well update the story and let everyone know how it turns out. I hope you enjoy!

-Savannah


Chapter 1

The night of our beginning of Parenthood

"We'll always love you, Ally."

-Nate

Sarza would never have agreed if Nate hadn't gotten her drunk. I wouldn't even have agreed if he hadn't been so enthusiastic and inspiring about it. Heck, Ally herself wouldn't have gone along with it if Nate hadn't shamelessly appealed to her vast inner child with hugs and whispers and candy.

So I guess you could say that our most interesting life experience was all because of Nate. Even though technically, Ally, everyone's newest dearest friend, started it by falling in love with motherhood and getting herself pregnant. I remember being there as she took the home pregnancy test with her into the bathroom and the excited screams that came after a few seconds of dulled tinkling and a pause. But it was Nate, a person who's infallible optimism needed to be cured by a bus accident and intense medication to suppress the mother load of 'the-world-is-a-wonderful-place' endorphins his brain insisted on producing, who handed us our college graduation beers (except for Ally, who was happily pregnant and couldn't have alcohol) and told us it was our civic and Ally-inspired duty to go somewhere we'd never planned to and raise her child ourselves.

"Only if you make that damned professor shut up about I-form 296!" Sarza contributed. "And when pigs have wings!" She spat in her drunken stupor, believing this to settle the matter.

Nate promptly drew a very round pig with obstructing parts that could pass for some sort of rudimentary organic flying components onto the cardboard contraption that our beer came in.

Sarza stared at it for a minute, shouted out, "Then the sea is boiling hot!" and ran for the bathroom to spill her guts, because she had drank rest of the twelve-pack herself, successfully binding us together as the sorriest foursome of soon-to-be-parents I had ever heard of.

Ally giggled and hugged me. I downed the last of my lukewarm beer and wondered why, after twenty-four years I still was a lumbering idiot with no brain, no specific college diploma, three of the craziest week-old acquaintances God had ever made, and without the will power to deny Nate his crazy plan. Sarza says all young adults lose half their logical processing centers and don't fully get them back until they've finally grown up at age fifty. Ally says I've got great skin and a talent for listening, which is all anyone could ask for. I say my gifts will show up when I'm fifty and have nothing to say for myself cause I'm too busy listening to other people.

Nate made us all swear allegiance to each other on both the Bible and the Dictionary, cause Sarza wasn't religious, and said to think of Ghandi.

Diapers equal peace.

Anorexia equals enlightenment.

Great. Okay.