I went to an incredibly small high school, and graduated with something like 23 or 24 of my closest friends. I was always between Spearman and Taylor and I liked it that way.

During senior year, I became friends with our first-hour Humanities teacher, W. I visited with her between classes, after school, and on weekends. I was friends with her husband. We were tight. Like this.

I still remember the night I told her I was thinking of doing the whole Mormon thing. It was all kinds of awkward, but as Emmy can attest, it went surprisingly well and our friendship continued to grow. She was disappointed. She didn’t approve. But she was a real friend.

I also still remember telling her I’d been baptized. I can still hear the sigh. I can still feel the silence as we drove home from the scrapbook store.

She and her husband were there the day I went away to college. We talked on the phone over the next several months. I announced I was moving to Utah. I probably withdrew, emotionally, and they reacted in kind. Before I knew it, three years had passed without much more than an e-mail or two, one visit, and a few phone calls.

Then, randomly, I e-mailed them a few Fridays ago. I didn’t expect or a response, and didn’t even really know if the address would still work. Come Monday, though, I had a response in my inbox. I also had a slightly ambiguous pregnancy-or-recent-birth-implying sentence toward the end.

So I did the only reasonable thing (whenever I do anything reasonable, it is usually very far from being motivated by logic and/or reason) and stalked the Internet. It was a girl. She was due in August.

I had to come to terms with a lot of things. I always thought I’d be there. We always talked about how I’d be there. I’d be around when they had a baby. I’d be the nanny. I’d be the Aunt Ashley. And then I wondered why I hadn’t heard the news before then. I guess I felt hurt. Yeah, I really did. I really felt hurt.

But I sucked it up. Because more than anything, I wanted a new start with old friends. I wanted to know what they’d named her. I wanted to know if she had her blonde hair. I just wanted to know. So I called. We talked a few times over the next few days. It seemed to be going pretty well.

I remembered they liked penguins. I thought I ought to go to the store and find some kind of baby-themed, penguin-shaped something. And then I remembered something even better. I remembered January 2002, when I’d found some baby-themed, penguin-shaped baby accoutrements. I’d shown them to W&D. They’d ooh-ed and aww-ed, and in a Hallmark-themed friendship kind of moment, W told me to tuck them away and give them to her again when she had a baby.

So I did. In my closet, in a bulls-eyed Target bag. And I thought to myself, as we renewed our communication, where those penguined items might have ended up—and wouldn’t it just be so nice if I could get my mom to track them down and get them to the M’s? I mean, really, wouldn’t it?

I know. I’m sweet.

So I booked it, communicatively. I had my mom wrap it all up all nice-like and I had her sign the card, “[heart], Ashley.” I made Daniel promise he’d drop it off at their house on the way back to school. I made him text me when he’d done it. I made him answer me when he forgot to text me and tell me he’d done it.

And then I sat back, I smiled, and I waited.

But nothing happened.

I never heard a thing. And now it’s been a week-and-a-half. And I haven’t heard a word. I’ve wondered all sorts of things, like if Daniel forgot where they lived, or if he lost the card, or if my mom forgot the card. I’ve wondered if wolves may have been involved. Or dingoes. They like babies.

So, I compiled a sort of cause-and-effect diagram to chronicle the most likely suspects of their lack of communication. And I share it with you today, in hopes that you’ll help me to resolve this that has left me expended of mental faculties and creative energy. And also penguined baby items.

What are your thoughts? Suggestions? I mean, I’ve pretty much covered everything, right?