Telling the gang went so well that I’m starting to think we should have waited until after we’d gone through dinner with her family to tell them.
On the other hand, it’s obviously lifted her spirits to have such an eruption of happiness around the news from the people closest to us. We waited until lunchtime, which wasn’t easy given the concerned looks the boys were giving me. But we waited until everyone was gathered on the reception sofas, and the moment the words, “Leo and I are going to have a baby, and no, it’s not the first of April,” left her lips, there was a flurry of squeals and energetic hugs as she and I were congratulated to within an inch of our lives. Knowing our family the way I do, I anticipated nothing less, but actually experiencing it still fills me with reassurance. Nobody looked horrified. Nobody pointed at me incredulously and shouted, “Withhim?!You can’t be serious!”
Far from it. Eli and Dean both clapped my back hard when they hugged me. Parenthood might not be Eli’s bag, and whoknows with Dean, but I’m left in no doubt of their full support and their belief in my abilities to be a good father. It was a boost I didn’t realise I needed.
Emily made excited plans to see how many decaf flavours she can find for the mother to be to enjoy for the next seven months. Sadie swore enough to put Gary to shame when she realised she’d be off her beloved caffeine for a while.
Liaden bounced about like a kitten with the zoomies, telling us how good it is for a baby’s brain development if they’re raised bilingual, and begged us to let her teach our kid a language of our choice. “And obviously they’ll be taught ASL before they can speak,” she adds. And absofuckinglutely they will.
There’s not much to coo over in the ultrasound picture, as our baby is so small and easily lost amid the other wavy lines and smudges, but we all manage to seesomething.
Once I’m back in my studio, all I can think about is how to handle tomorrow evening with Sadie’s family. I’m glad I don’t have any clients this afternoon and booked the rest of the day out for business admin, because this is going to be a tricky one to play. Sadie doesn’t need anyone white-knighting for her, and would smack me upside the head if I tried, but I will bedamnedif anyone says anything to upset her. But at the same time, I mustnotmake the situation worse by saying the wrong thing, or standing up for her in a way that screws everything up even more.
I just need to figure out the best way to support her as each moment arises. I can talk to her about it beforehand, ask what she would find most useful. I’m not going to tread on anyone’s toes. And at least Tim will be there. I’ve never met Jacob. I know Sadie isn’t particularly close to him, though she’s never said anything negative about him as a person. Her parents are likely to be the grouches raining on our parade here, mostly her father. On the rare occasions I’ve had any contact with him, I’ve alwaysfound him to be so far up his own arse he can probably lick his own lungs.
One thing’s for damn sure: he will never treat our child like shit. I won’t allow it, and I’m sure Sadie wouldn’t either, but that’s my own line in the sand for the future.
Checking my watch, I do a little mental arithmetic, and then pick up the phone to call my mother and sisters. And Auntie Woowoo. At least I knowtheywill be delighted to hear the news.
And I think they’ll also be happy to go along with an idea I’ve just had.
The momentwe enter the Stewart family home, Sadie’s whole demeanour visibly changes. Her shoulders are straight and her chin is up, and she gives easy enough hugs to her mother and both her brothers, but she’s tense and her fists are tight at her sides when she stops. I place my hand on the small of her back, and she’s stiff as a board. It makes me want to stand in front of her like a shield against whatever’s bothering her, or better yet, sweep her out of here and shout at them all for making her feel like she isn’t safe to be herself in her family home.
I’ve worn one of my best shirts for this occasion. It’s dark green and made of silk, and hopefully indicates that I’ve made an effort and that I’m affluent enough to afford decent clothes. Being both socially aware and an excellent provider are obviously desirable traits in a daughter’s partner, and a grandchild’s father, and I’m hoping maybe this will soften them up to the idea.
Though, given the length of my hair and the sheer amount of ink on my skin, I doubt it.
As I move towards her, the photo in my shirt pocket shifts a little, like it’s reminding me it’s there. I smile to myself. No matter what they think, however they react, this is happening, and they can’t stop it. And I won’t let them take anything away from our happiness. They’re not ruining a damn thing.
“Leo,” Tim says warmly, clearly trying to set the tone as he shakes my hand, “great to see you.”
“You too.” I send him a grateful smile.
“Have you met Jacob?” He nods towards a man who’s even taller than me, dark haired and affable, dressed in a fisherman’s jumper with a shirt and tie on underneath. He looks uncomfortable, but his smile is friendly enough, albeit shy.
“Pleasure,” he says, giving me an enthusiastic handshake. His eyes are a similar shape to Sadie’s and Tim’s, but otherwise, he looks nothing like them, and I’d never have thought they were siblings. Poor guy seems a little out of place.
Even more so when Mr Stewart makes his entrance, shoulders back and head up, his tie tight around his crisp shirt collar, his jumper looking brand new. Perhaps he sees Jacob as his clone, I think as I take in their similar dress. He gives his family a thorough looking over, assessing them, and I swear if this was another era he would expect bows and curtsies. He saves looking at me until last, his eyes carefully avoiding me as he surveys everyone else, before treating me to a cursory glance. Judging by the flare of his nostrils and his barely-there nod, I still don’t impress him. “Mills.”
“Stewart.” I look at him evenly when he scowls at me. I’m not going to antagonise him, but I’m also not going to take any crap.
When Sadie squeezes my hand, I know I’ve done the right thing.
“Utilitarianism,” Jacob mumbles.
I turn to him and smile. “Sorry?”
“Uh…” He shrugs awkwardly. “John Stuart Mill. Father of the ethical system of utilitarianism. The greatest good for the greatest number.” He squirms. “Though he spells Stuart with a U, and there’s no S on the end of Mill, so…not that alike, after all.”
“Jacob knows so much about so many things,” their mother says quietly from the doorway, and from the way she’s leaning slightly, she’s been there for a while, unnoticed. Mrs Stewart is tiny, maybe five feet tall, and wears beige head to toe, unobtrusive and matching the wallpaper. Her shy smile doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s watchful, trying to anticipate anything that could happen. As she looks between me and Sadie, her hands fidget at her sides, and I can tell she’s waiting for us to say or do something scandalous. Something that will set her husband off.
“Dinner almost ready?” Mr Stewart asks her, like he’s her commanding officer.
“Almost,” she says in the same quiet voice, and scurries back to the kitchen to get it done.
Her husband clearly runs a tight ship around here. Or at least he thinks he does. I cannot fathom how my wild, fiery angel came from this rude, unfriendly, stiff-arsed old codger. Still, I suppose even the most beautiful plants sometimes come from the foulest shit heaps.
“Let’s go into the living room,” the commandant decides, standing back and watching us to make sure none of us disobey his order.
