Once again, I was standing in what could only be described as a suburban nightmare. The white picket fences were still there, still gleaming white, though quite a few were dirtied by the remains of winter mud and it seemed like the most individualistic part of the houses were the garish Christmas lights still hanging outside. Luckily, those were in the minority, a small blessing but a blessing nonetheless.

As requested, I didn’t ring the doorbell but sent Jenn a text and after a brief wait, the door was opened. A strange, funky smell wafted past me and an odd creature stood inside, looking at me through half-closed eyes. For a moment, I couldn’t recognise her, wondering if somehow a zombie from Mundus had made its way to suburbia, its presence likely livening up the neighbourhood quite a bit but before I could consider ways to kill said zombie, I recognised Jenn.

“You look rough,” I blurted out, before remembering that proper decorum required a greeting, followed by polite inquiries about her wellbeing and the usual lies about your own state. But the words had been spoken and other than blushing lightly when I realised my blunder, there was nothing I could do about it. And it was true, there were deep circles beneath her eyes, making her resemble a panda, her hair was looking like a bird would soon start building a nest and she was moving with a tired sluggishness that made a sloth seem energetic. And yet, even in that state, she radiated a strange, calm gentleness that didn’t quite fit. It felt odd.

“I feel it,” she nodded, a tired grin on her face. “It’s good to see you.”

I followed her in and was directed into the living room. There was a small bed in the corner, with the newborn inside, now no longer looking as squished and unfinished, but still far from properly human.

We sat down at the table and I was facing a serious challenge, small talk. We had to speak quietly, so we wouldn’t disturb the baby, but the lack of volume didn’t help me with finding topics. A part of me wanted to ask about her experience, but it didn’t really feel right. Too intimate. In addition, a far larger part remembered those weird thoughts I had a few days ago and shivers started to creep down my spine.

Before our conversation could run out of topics, the doorbell rang and immediately, a secondary noise started up, a loud and piercing wail, coming from the baby. I had no idea how such a small creature could produce that volume of noise, there had to be some mutation in its lungs, or something along those lines, that couldn’t be normal.

“Can you take care of Sebastian, please? I need to get this,” Jenn asked, already moving towards the door.

With absolutely no idea what to do, I walked over to the crip, desperately thinking. Sure, there were physical ways to stop the screaming, but smothering the baby was definitely not what Jenn had asked me to do, even if ‘taking care of someone’ could be used as a euphemism. Reaching out, I gently poked the baby’s cheek with my finger, hoping that getting its attention would maybe help with the crying.

For a moment, the baby ceased, or maybe it simply had to take a deep breath, so I poked again, just as its chubby, little hands started to flail wildly and the screaming continued.

Luckily, Jenn didn’t take a long time and before I had to resort to desperate measures, she returned, carrying a small package.

“Sorry, had to take this,” she apologized, taking the baby out of the crip, before starting to hum a small melody as she gently swayed back and forth, as if dancing with the baby.

Somehow, her actions worked and the screaming quickly faded away, as she started to talk to the baby, quietly asking why it was screaming. I began to question her sanity, the thing most certainly couldn’t answer, so why was she asking it? Shouldn’t she understand how to properly care for it?

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Well, I guess you are hungry, little man,” she muttered after a few other mutterings hadn’t produced anything but bubbling noises.

Looking quite pleased with herself, Jenn sat down on the couch, leaving me standing next to the crip, feeling a little lost.

When she opened a flap on her dress and started breastfeeding the baby, the awkwardness I was feeling greatly intensified but sadly, I had no idea how to act. There was nothing in the social customs and the decorum I had learned that dealt with such a situation. Generally, when someone exposed themselves, indifference was suggested, alongside simply ignoring the situation. When the exposure was done by a third agent, a similar reaction was appropriate if the act was consensual, a call to the police if the act was not.

But in this case? I had no idea and decided to go with what I had been taught and ignore the situation as much as possible. And so, I simply walked over and sat down on an armchair, trying to remember the last topic of our small talk, hoping to bring it back up so we could continue. Not because I was deeply invested in the topic, but because I felt that sitting quietly while she fed her baby wasn’t appropriate.

And yet, my mind didn’t come up with the topic we had been talking about but began to wander. Just like with human reproduction, I knew the biological theory about breastfeeding, but the practical terms managed to creep me out. Having another being suck their nutrients right out of you, didn’t that mean they were basically feeding on you? Again, the comparison to a parasite came to mind and with that thought, the previous shivers started back up.

“God, I’m feeling so bloated,” Jenn complained and I barely managed to make the appropriate sounds, indicating that I was listening. Very quickly, I began regretting accepting her invitation, as her complaining continued and began to include circumstances I most certainly wasn’t interested in.

A part of me could empathise with her situation, she had previously told me that Chris was taking his paternity leave mostly piece-meal, two days a week, leaving her with most of the work around the baby. It was a solution and from her description even a quite smart one, not leaving his career stranded while giving some support to her but at the same time, it put a lot of stress on her.

When she finally pulled the baby off her breast and gently patted its back, only for said baby to barf up what looked like more white slobber than its size suggested should fit into it, I felt myself getting queasy. The smell was… disturbing.

“Do you want to hold him?” she asked, that same, gentle smile on her face, as she somehow managed to fix her clothes, while still holding the baby, now in the crook of her arm. Just the idea to hold it, and possibly get barfed on, turned my queasiness into outright nausea and only pure strength of will kept me from stepping back in fright.

“No, thank you,” I politely demurred, even as my mind was frantically searching for reasons why I had to leave. Would it be overblown to claim some sort of emergency, possibly after checking my mobile?

Maybe attracted by the noise, the eyes of the baby focused on me and the pudding-like features turned into a smile.

“Look, he likes you,” Jenn grinned, stepping towards me, bringing with her the strange smell and the potential biohazard in her arms. This time, I didn’t manage to stop myself from stepping back.

“No, really, thank you, I’ve never held a baby before, I’d be afraid to drop it,” I repeated my refusal, trying to come up with a good, polite reason. I didn’t just want to tell Jenn to keep her biohazard to herself.

“Don’t worry about it, mothers have been doing this for millennia,” she prodded again and I thought there was a bit of mischief in her eyes but it came and vanished too fast to be certain.

I continued to refuse and, as politely as possible, excused myself, determined to leave Suburbia and its barfing babies as quickly as possible. The whole experience managed to clear up the weird line of thought from a few days prior. Unless there was a major change in my personal situation, I would not reproduce. There was no way I would want to experience what Jenn had described and what little I had witnessed.

But at the same time, I started to wonder. If reproduction wouldn’t be part of my future plans, what plans should I make for the future? What meaning did I want to give my life?

It was a question without an answer, but at the same time, it had an answer that I would have to search for. Otherwise, what was the meaning of life? Maybe once I was forty-two, I would know.