Intl Edition 63

“WHOA, WHOA, WHOA,” BEN SAID, WAVING HIS ARMS IN THE AIR. “WE DON’T KNOW FOR SURE THAT THE BABY IS A NOVELIST. HE COULD BE ANY KIND OF WRITER. ACCORDING TO PREGNANCY.COM, THERE’S A FORTY PERCENT CHANCE HE ENDS UP BLOGGING.”

and know just what to do—” “I’m not jealous!” Ben shouted. He flushed with embarrassment. He hadn’t meant his denial to come

“Wow!” Sue said. “That sounds pretty good. Right, honey? Right?” “He stole my idea,” Ben murmured

out so aggressively. He shot the teenagers a mitigating smile, but they both avoided eye contact. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m right in the middle of a chapter. Can we please just not do this right this second?” The movers turned to Joan for approval. She groaned histrionically and threw her hands up in the air. “Okay, okay, fine,” she said. “But we’ll be back.” Ben waited until they were all gone, then yanked open his desk drawer and held the sonogram up to the light. There was only one thought on his mind: What the hell was that kid writing? “I thought you said it was, like, fourteen hundred dollars?” Sue asked as Ben rubbed her stomach with some almond oil. “It’s actually less,” he said brightly. “Like, thirteen eighty.” “I don’t know,” she said. “It seems kind of pricy for a slightly more detailed sonogram picture. I mean, that’s like the equivalent of five thousand diapers.” “Damn it!” Ben snapped. “Whoa!” Sue said, taken aback. “Honey, what’s wrong?” Ben thought for a second. “I guess I’m just paranoid,” he bluffed. “I want to see him—really see him—just so I know he’s one hundred percent all right in there. You know? Just for my own peace of mind.” “Oh, baby!” she said. “I had no idea you were feeling this way.” She kissed him loudly on the cheek. “If that’s how you feel, then of course. I support you.” Dr. Kowalski was his usual upbeat self as he booted up the high- tech 4-D scanner. But when he put on his glasses and squinted at the screen, his face went slack. “My God,” he murmured softly. “My God in heaven.” “What’s wrong?” Sue asked the doctor. Dr. Kowalski swiveled around and laughed. “I am sorry!” he said. “Everything is fine with baby health! It is just this thing fetus is writing. It is so engrossing. ” He shook his head with amazement. “I forgot there were other people in room! Until you spoke, I was just, like, ‘in it’!” Sue exhaled with relief. She tried to squeeze Ben’s hand, but his fingers were limp. He leapt up and hurried toward the scanner. “How did he get that typewriter ?” he asked. Dr. Kowalski shrugged. “Is normal at twenty-five weeks.” Ben was disturbed to notice that the fetus was using a hip, vintage Underwood. He was almost certainly a novelist and probably a literary one. “What’s he writing?” he asked, trying to sound casual. “Is historical novel,” said Dr. Kowalski. “About General Custer.” Ben’s heart raced. “He’s writing about General Custer ?” “Yes,” said the doctor. “But it is about so much more than that. It is suspenseful, lyrical. In some ways, it is story of America itself.”

as they climbed up to their fifth-floor Brooklyn walk-up. “How is that even possible?” Sue asked. She was exhausted and a little out of breath. “They can hear stuff through the womb,” Ben said. “He must have heard me talking about it or something.” “But you never talk about your work,” Sue reasoned. “I mean, until today, I had no idea you were starting a book about General Custer.” “I’m not starting it; I’m finishing it! I’m up to the last chapter, God damn it!” “It’s going to be fine,” she said soothingly. “There can be two books about the same thing, right?” But Ben had already bounded up the stairs, leaving her to walk up the final flight alone. Ben raced into his office and did some mental calculations. Even if the fetus was nearing the end of his novel, he was still stuck inside Sue’s womb. He wouldn’t be able to physically turn in a manuscript until after he was born. Assuming the due date held, Ben had fifteen weeks to finish his draft and submit it first to publishers. He closed the door and flipped open his laptop. He was about to get to work when his phone began to buzz—an unknown Manhattan number. “Dr. Kowalski?” he answered wearily. “I’m sorry, no!” said a polite female voice. “I’m from the Wylie Agency. Is this Ben Herstein?” Ben stood up with excitement. He was between literary agents and had been hoping for some time for a call like this one. “Yes, it’s me!” he said. “What’s up?” “I’m calling about your son,” she said. “I tried to reach him directly, but my understanding is he hasn’t yet been born. Anyway, I was wondering if he might be interested in representation.” A knot of tension formed in the center of Ben’s spine as the agent praised the fetus’s work in progress. Apparently, an unscrupulous nurse had posted the 4-D scan to Reddit, and the link had gone viral. “He’s not interested,” Ben said. “Are you sure?” “Yes!” There was a light knock on the door. “Honey?” Sue asked. “Are you okay?” “Just leave me alone!” Ben said. “I’m trying to work!” “Mom and the movers are here,” she said. “Remember? To put in the crib?” Ben whipped open the door. “I’ve made a decision,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m not giving up my office.” Sue tilted her head, genuinely confused. “I don’t understand,” she said. “We already talked about this.”

She reached for his arm, but he jerked it away. “Everyone just leave me alone!” he whined. “Baby, come on—”

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