Too good.
I push the thought away and go back to my reading. I’m not going to help other women when I spend all my waking energy fantasizing about blue eyes and hard abs.
His mother calls Thursday evening while I'm curled up on the couch with my laptop, working on a response paper for my health policy class. Tucker is at practice.
"Sloane! I'm so glad I caught you." Judge’s voice is warm, energetic. "I asked Tucker for your number so I could apologize about dinner. I know we came on strong.”
“Oh.” I am totally caught off guard by this, not sure how to respond. “Thank you. I … am … not used to people making a fuss over me.”
She laughs, a sound that echoes off the walls of wherever she’s calling from. “Look, I know Tucker said things are … well, that you two are still figuring things out, but I wanted to see if you would come to a baby shower.”
My stomach clenches. “The what? Sorry—I mean, I wasn't expecting?—"
"The family is so excited, Sloane! You're having twins! And everyone is dying to meet you." She sounds genuinely excited. "Now, I know Tucker's been buying things—Ty tells me he's been very... enthusiastic about shopping. But there must be things you still need. Have you made a registry?"
I look around the apartment. At the nursery down the hall, it is already fully stocked with everything two babies could possibly need. The snot suckers and nail clippers, the mountains of tiny clothes Tucker keeps bringing home.
"We really have everything," I say. "Tucker's been kind of relentless about it."
"That's my boy." Judge laughs. "Well, what if we do a helping shower instead? The Stag family is very good at providing support—meal prep, childcare commitments, that sort of thing. Would that work?"
A helping shower. Where Tucker's enormous family descends with their schedules and plans and well-meaning suggestions about how I should raise my babies. But they’re also Stag babies, aren’t they? It’s not like I can keep them from his family.
"That sounds great," I hear myself say. My voice sounds normal, enthusiastic even as I panic inside. "Thank you."
"Perfect! How about Sunday? My boys are all off that day, and I think Wes and Cara are both in town. You can meet everyone properly."
Everyone. I’ve been avoiding Tucker’s large 30-person family gatherings, mainly because it feels overwhelming. I keep imagining dozens of white people, all enormous like Tucker, all with thoughts to share about my “exotic” appearance.
Still, I find myself saying, “Sunday works."
"Wonderful. I'll text you the address. We're so happy you and Tucker are doing this together. He's different lately—more settled. You're good for him."
After we hang up, I sit there staring at my laptop screen, the words of my health policy paper swimming in front of my eyes.
You're good for him.
Not: This is good for you. Or: We're excited to support you.
You're good for him.
I close my laptop and go to bed, even though it's only eight o'clock.
CHAPTER 29
SLOANE
Sunday arrives too quickly.
"You're going to love everyone," Tucker says as he drives us to his parents' house. His hand rests on my thigh, warm and familiar. "They're all excited to meet you officially. As my—" He pauses. "As the mother of my kids."
Not as his girlfriend. Not as his partner. As the mother of his kids.
Which is accurate. That's all we are, and it’s my choice.
So why does it sting?
He glances at me and must notice something in my facial expression. “What’s up?”
