Nate popped out from the kitchen and greeted my parents warmly, taking their coats and offering coffee.
I made the introductions and to my utter shock, my dad didn't even blink at Nate's age.
It'd given me a bit of anxiety, and I knew Nate was very nervous about it, but Dad shook his hand and offered to help carve the turkey if needed.
We were still settling into conversation when the doorbell rang again and this time, it was Nate's parents.
His mother carried a casserole dish and his father held a bottle of wine.
"We brought our contribution," his mom announced, kissing my cheek. "And wine for later, though obviously not for you, dear."
Her cold hand patted my cheek, and I laughed softly at her motherly tone.
It felt so good to be hosting them, knowing she supported us both.
Mr. Bradley nodded at me, then at Nate.
The gesture was still formal, but there was warmth beneath it that hadn't existed before Thanksgiving.
"Nate," he said, reaching out a hand, and Nate shook it.
"Dad," he grunted… "Come meet Mr. Hensly. We'll have some nog and you can teach him how you carve the turkey."
Nate winked at me as he passed me and led his father into the kitchen where my dad was waiting.
I felt transported to a different planet today, and it felt like a dream come true.
Soon the brownstone was filled conversation and laughter.
My mother and Nate's mother disappeared into the nursery together, bonding over recipes and baby advice.
My dad and Nate's dad stood by the oven discussing hospital politics with surprising civility, given how vocal I knew Nate's father to be, and I sat on the sofa and watched them all, my hand resting on my stomach.
Six months ago, I had been alone in a tiny apartment, terrified that my past would destroy any chance at happiness.
Now I was surrounded by family in a home that felt truly mine, wearing an engagement ring and carrying a baby that would be loved by grandparents on both sides.
"When is the baby due?" my mother asked, returning from the nursery with fresh coffee in hand from a pit stop in the kitchen.
"Early May," Nate answered, settling beside me on the sofa. His arm draped around me and I leaned into his side. "May seventh, according to the doctor's current estimate."
"A spring baby." His mother clasped her hands together. "How wonderful."
"Have you thought about names?" my father asked.
"We have a few ideas, but nothing definite yet." I looked at Nate. "We want to wait until we know if it is a boy or girl."
"When will you find out?" my mother asked.
"We're going to wait until he or she is born." I took a sip of water. "We are both hoping for a healthy baby, regardless of gender."
The conversation flowed naturally from there, questions about nursery colors and baby gear and Mr. Bradley's disappointment that we planned to wait to find out the gender.
They even had gentle inquiries about wedding plans, which we admitted we hadn't discussed yet given the engagement was only an hour old.
I watched my parents interact with Nate's parents and saw the way they were finding common ground despite their different backgrounds.
My mother showed pictures of me as a baby, and Nate's mother reciprocated with stories of his childhood.
