"Hot," Mel supplies. "That's hot, Sloane."
"It's considerate."
"Same thing." She wheels further down the hall, peeking into the guest room where Tucker has moved his stuff. "This is his room now?"
"Yeah. He gave me the primary."
"Also, hot."
"Stop saying that."
She grins and continues exploring, finding the door to what will be the nursery. "Can I?"
"Go ahead."
She opens the door, and I follow. The room is empty except for the shopping bags Tucker moved in here—all those supplies, carefully stacked.
Mel starts going through them, pulling out items. "Bamboo sheets. Nice. Oh, this stroller—Sloane, do you know how much this costs?"
“Yes, in fact I do.”
She whistles and runs her hands over the box. "He's serious about this."
"I know."
She turns to face me, expression thoughtful. "Are you okay? Like, really okay with all this?"
"I think so?" It comes out as a question. "It's a lot. Living with him, seeing how much he's preparing, how invested he is. It's not what I expected."
"What did you expect?"
"I don't know. That he'd offer money and show up for big moments but otherwise stay distant. That I'd be doing this mostly alone, like my grandmother did."
"But Tucker's not distant."
"No. He's..." I gesture helplessly. "He's here. He's present. He asks the doctor questions, makes me sandwiches, and buys ridiculously expensive strollers."
"And you thought he was just a party hookup."
The observation lands heavily. This was going to be the year of me going back to school. Finally stepping out of the cycle of having babies too young, with too little support. Tucker was a little treat on the way to bigger things. “He was supposed to be…”
Mel snorts and pulls out another item—a book. "Parenting Twins: The First Year." She sets it aside and grabs another. "What to Expect: The First Year." Another. "The Baby Book." She pauses, pulling out a pamphlet tucked between the books. "Black Hair and Skin Care: A Guide for New Parents."
We both stare at it. I’m immediately transported back to elementary school, when one of the Black neighbors took Grandma aside and offered to show her how to comb my hair. It was the beginning of a daily ritual of moisturizing and wrapping.
"He got a pamphlet," Mel says slowly, "about Black hair care."
"He's … binge reading.”
"He's doing thework, Sloane." She hands me the pamphlet, which has notes in the margins like I’ve seen him take on his phone during doctor appointments. "This isn't performative. This is him actually trying to understand what your kids will need."
I flip through the pamphlet. It's detailed—information about different hair textures, product recommendations, how tomoisturize, protective styles for babies. Someone has highlighted sections in yellow.
Tucker highlighted sections about caring for our babies' hair.
"Okay," I admit. "That's kind of hot."
Mel laughs. "Finally! She admits it."
