“Ask him,” Rowe nudges, whispering at my ear as she hugs my arm. My brother notices her sweet gesture and cocks a brow at me, I think assuming that we’re about to share our good news. I shake my head quickly to let him know it isn’t me. When he swallows hard, I figure he’s done the math. Only one other option in this room.
“Babe, do you want to sit down and rest?” Ty moves closer to the couch and rearranges pillows while Cass leans against the kitchen island, blowing on a spoonful of our stew. I hope it doesn’t poison her.
“Ty, I play ninety-minute soccer games. I’m not tired from a little bunny hill this morning.” She gives the spoon one more blow before popping it in her mouth. When she hums the kind of noise that indicates our food is not poisonous, I relax.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Rowe says at my side. She marches into our room and grabs the bagged pregnancy test, thrusting it out in front of her as she strides back into the room. “Is this yours?”
Rowe sets the bagged test on the counter next to Cass, who instantly laughs at seeing it.
“Fuck, no!” She twists to her side, revealing the open bottle of wine and the glass she has clearly already drunk from. “You watched me open this bottle. Wasn’t that maybe a clue?”
Ty’s shoulders drop and a lazy smile spreads on his mouth.
“No. I mean, I guess. I don’t know, I was just sorta stressed and freaking out. I mean, I’m ready, but . . . I don’t know. I guess I want a heads up next time? Like, when we’re really pregnant,” he says.
“Me, too,” Cass fires back, lifting her glass in a toast then pressing it to her lips and tilting her head back to finish the small bit that’s left. “And by the way, I’ll be the one pregnant. You’ll just be getting fat.”
We all laugh about this funny misunderstanding, and I think maybe this tiny glimpse has shown us all how we see our futures playing out.
“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Ty holds up both of his hands as he demands our attention. He points to the test, still sitting on the counter. “If that’s not yours, or yours.” He points to Rowe then Cass, and we all catch up to his thought process.
“Oh, shit!” I arrive to the only possible conclusion about two seconds before my parents walk through the front door, heavy tote bags on their shoulders and at their sides.
“Hey, who’s ready for Christmas?” My mom’s gleeful greeting could not be a better segue for Ty’s pending question.
“Hey, Mom!” my brother begins.
She drops her bags and shakes out her arms, her perfect smile stretching the width of her face as her brows lift, waiting for her oldest son to finish his words.
“Remember the time I asked Santa for a baby brother?” Ty grabs the test and tosses it toward our father, who catches it against his chest, then stares at it in his palm for a very long, very quiet time.
“Oh, boy,” our mom says, her body shrinking as the air leaves her lungs.
“Are you serious?” My question comes out a little more incredulous than intended. It’s just that . . . I’m almost twenty-two, and Ty’s twenty-five. And my parents are in their forties.
“We were hoping to tell you on Christmas, as a surprise,” Mom says.
“Well, surprise!” Ty blurts out.
I quiet and simmer in guilt because I can tell this is not how my mom wanted any of this to go.
“We’re just in shock, Mom,” I add, trying to make it better.
My mom moves into the kitchen and takes over one of the stools.
“Well,” she begins. “It seems your father falls within that super small percentage of men who have their tubes grow back together. And, well—”
She holds her hands out to her sides then folds them on her tummy.
My dad looks like he’s going to pass out. Probably from all the tube and vasectomy talk.
“Oh, my God, you two made a baby!” Ty’s hands have flown into his hair, and they’re pushing it back while his wide eyes dart around the room. “You two had sex!”
I groan at his childish revelation, then throw the nearest pillow I can grab at his chest.
“Dude, have some class,” I say. I know my brother has a hard time processing major news like this. Humor is his tool. Now is not the time, though.
“I’m forty-three. Do you guys think I just shrivel up?” My mom has moved to the space between us, her hands on her hips. It’s pretty close to impossible to look at her and see something other than the woman who made my sack lunches and put cold compresses on my head when I had fevers. But I guess, yeah, I mean . . . she made me, and Ty. So, there has been sex in her life.
I shiver at the thought.
“Stop it. I see your mind trying to rationalize it.” My mom smacks my arm with her open palm, jostling me out of my thoughts.
“Cathy.” Rowe steps in front of me, tenderly wrapping her hand around my mom’s bicep. Thank God. Rowe’s good at maneuvering through all things awkward. Hell, our entire early relationship was one big trip through delicate and awkward.
I look on while my girlfriend—and dollar-bill-fiancée—takes over, instantly changing the tone from one of shock and doubt to celebration and concern. There are no words exchanged at first, merely a sweet embrace that brings tears to my mom’s eyes. Emotions hit Ty’s eyes next, and though he doesn’t let the tears actually fall, they well up pretty damn good.
“Is this news to celebrate?” Rowe asks, her shoulders lifted as she backs away enough to see my mom’s eyes while still holding on to her shoulders.
My mom nods slowly, sniffling.
“It was a shock,” she laughs out. “But yes, we’ve run it up the flagpole as your father likes to say, Ty and Nate, and we think this is a blessing. And we’re so excited.”
Rowe hugs my mom again, and I move in to take over, wrapping my arms around a woman who has always felt sturdy like a rock but seems fragile and precious now. Ty was too young to realize how this felt when our mom was pregnant with me.
“Tyson, what do you think?” Our mom turns from my hug to face my brother. Ty runs his forearm along his eyes, drying them. He’s quiet for several seconds, and I worry that maybe he’s really not okay with any of this.
“I think you better hope for a girl. Otherwise you are truly going to be outnumbered,” my brother jokes. My mom kneels and hugs him, and even though we’ve made it this far, it still feels a bit like a dream. I can’t believe this is really happening.
“So, how old will you be when she gets to college?” Ty asks.
“Sixty-one. Yeah, I know—sixty-freaking-one.” A sharp laugh flies from my mom’s mouth and she cups her mouth, probably holding in just how nervous all of this makes her.
Cass turns our attention toward the kitchen, I think mostly to let my mom off the hook for a few minutes. We’d planned on serving the stew for dinner, but since it’s after noon and things have cooked enough, we give in and begin to fill bowls.
Everyone but my mom takes a glass of wine, and we listen through casual sips of our steaming soup while my dad walks us through his version of the story. He gives us way too many details, as only our dad could. Apparently, they came up here two months ago for their anniversary—which would mark the date Ty so tactfully labels The Deed Date. They were up here last weekend to get the place ready for this trip, and that’s when my mom started to feel off.