Doesn’t That Sound Great, Mary Beth? by Jessica Klimesh

*THE BLUE FROG 2^nd PLACE WINNER*

The first lie Mary Beth told her boyfriend was that she wanted kids. She heard it come out of her mouth in a voice disconnected from her brain, an auto-pilot answer, like when you’re at a store and they ask if you’ve found everything alright and you say yes even though you haven’t. He had said something like, a big family, maybe five or six kids, you know, and she had nodded, said, oh yes! It was only a few weeks into their relationship, so it seemed insignificant at the time, something they’d surely discuss later, when things were more serious.

And that’s when the first baby showed up. Mary Beth discovered him in her closet, nestled in a blanket, safe and warm, a blip of a dimple when he smiled. Well, where did you come from? she asked. But, of course, the baby didn’t answer. And even though she knew he couldn’t talk, Mary Beth continued to ask him questions. What’s your name? Are you lost? Where’s your mother?

She’d heard about those baby drop-offs at fire stations—completely anonymous—and it seemed the most logical solution. So that’s what she did. After all, he wasn’t even hers.

A day or two later, her boyfriend mentioned how he was looking forward to—in the future, of course—the hustle and bustle of parental activities, how he thrived on busy-ness, go go go. Doesn’t that sound great, Mary Beth? And she could almost picture it, the two of them volunteering at their children’s school, PTA meetings, running 5Ks as a family, matching pajama holiday photos. It didn’t seem so bad, especially when it was so abstract, so many years away, so she smiled, said, oh yes, that sounds like fun!

But just like that, more babies appeared, including that first baby again. Mary Beth remembered his dimple. Well, you came back, did you? And I see you brought a bunch of your friends this time, too, huh? Mary Beth waited until well after dark to take the babies to the fire station drop-off, worried she might otherwise be noticed.

But every day the babies kept not only reappearing, but multiplying. She’d find them in her kitchen cupboards, in the bathtub, even once on the ironing board in her basement. Oh, that’s not very safe, let’s get you down!

When her boyfriend surprised her with a Disney vacation for their three-month anniversary, she couldn’t think of anything worse. Didn’t he know her at all, how she’d prefer to sip wine along the Seine, unburdened by responsibility, or go hiking in the mountains, or read books in a quiet cabin in the woods, a quaint little coffee shop or bookstore nearby? And what was she supposed to do with all of these babies while they were gone?

Week after week, Mary Beth remained silent as her boyfriend rambled on about sports, quietly sneaking in tidbits like his favorite teams, favorite colors, favorite foods, peppering in words and phrases that Mary Beth only half-heard. Destination wedding, brand-new house in the suburbs, a yard with a trampoline, minivan. Doesn’t that sound great, Mary Beth? And Mary Beth nodded, nodded, nodded, so vigorously, in fact, that she thought her head might bobble off.

And all the while, the babies kept returning. The same ones as before, plus new ones. Mary Beth found one in her mailbox, another in her microwave, one at the bottom of her laundry basket. Oh! she said. How long have you been in there? I usually do laundry much more often.

Mary Beth’s boyfriend popped the question, and because she truly loved the idea of love, and maybe even him, she said yes, yet another preset answer rolling off her tongue before she could even stop to think.

And now there were so many babies that she took to pinning numbers on their onesies to keep track of them. Hundreds of them. We must find your parents! Let’s get you to a safe place! she kept saying, though it all seemed too much now, the endless trips to the fire station just for the babies to reappear a few hours later, and she worried her boyfriend—fiancé?—might discover what was happening. And everything smelled like drool and milk and vegetable puree and the piles of laundry never ended and she hadn’t slept in weeks and—had she even showered today, this month? What was her fiancé’s name? Or was he her husband now? Had she actually said yes? She needed to talk to him. Was it too late? There was something she needed to say, needed to tell him. There was something, what was it now? Just. All she knew was that she had something very important to say to him. Something very, very important.

If only she could remember what it was.

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JESSICA KLIMESH — Jessica (she/her) is a US-based writer and writing coach whose creative work has appeared or is forthcoming in Fractured Lit, Moon City Review, Ghost Parachute, Rawhead, and Gone Lawn, among others, and has been anthologized in Best Microfiction 2025 and Best of the Net 2025. She is also the co-editor/co-founder of Hot Flash Literary. Learn more at jessicaklimesh.com.

Art by ALI McLAFFERTY — Ali is an Austin-based artist and writer moonlighting as a high school history teacher. Her fiction has been published in The Forge, and Flash Frog has featured both her flash fiction and several of her art pieces. She loves working in acrylic, watercolor, colored pencil, and graphite pencil, and believes every surface–paper, wood, walls, stone, or skin–is better with a little paint on it. When not writing or creating artwork, she spends her time gardening, mountain-biking, and dabbling in green witchcraft. Her biggest fans are all the neighborhood children who demand painted tattoos on every limb.