I sigh and close my eyes, gathering my thoughts. “Am I going to be the only person of color? I just need to prepare myself if there are three dozen white people.”
He scratches his chin as he waits for a light to turn. “Well.” He proceeds through the intersection. “Cara is Latina. But yes, everyone else is white.”
"Did you tell anyone?" The question comes out sharper than I intended. "About me?"
"They've seen pictures." He glances at me, confused. "I didn't think I needed to make an announcement."
"You didn't." I look out the window, watching the pristine Squirrel Hill houses pass by. Of course, he didn't think about it. Why would he? "I just like to know what I'm walking into."
My babies are going to be Black, like me. They're going to grow up in this family, surrounded by all this whiteness, and I'll be the one making sure they know how to navigate that safely. I need to find community. The pressure of all of this feels heavy.
"They're going to love you," Tucker says for the third time.
The Stag house is huge—a sprawling colonial in one of Pittsburgh's nicest neighborhoods. Expensive black sports cars are already parked along the driveway. Through the windows, I can see people moving around inside.
"Ready?" Tucker asks, squeezing my hand.
No. "Yes."
The house is chaos.
That's the only word for it. People everywhere—dogs, too. Voices overlapping, laughter, someone singing Taylor Swift songs off-key in another room. Tucker's hand is on my lower back, guiding me through the crowd, making introductions.
"Sloane, this is my brother Odin. Odin, Sloane."
"Nice to officially meet you," Odin says. He's a psychologist on the Fury's behavioral health staff—but has mostly been a referee for Tucker and Josh’s … interactions. "How are you feeling?"
"Good. Tired, but good."
“I’m pretty clueless about parenting stuff, but let me know if you need any resources for anxiety or?—"
"She's fine," Tucker interrupts. "Not everyone needs therapy, O."
They bicker good-naturedly, and someone else is pulling me toward the kitchen. Judge Juniper, smiling and warm, put a glass of sparkling cider in my hand.
"Sloane! Come meet everyone. This is Tim’s wife Alice?—"
A short woman with graying hair and kind eyes. "Lovely to meet you, dear. Tucker's been gushing about you for months."
"And some of the gals, Cara and Thora?—"
Two women in their twenties, both athletic-looking. Caragrins. "We've already volunteered to babysit. I'm going to take them jogging in one of those fancy running strollers."
"They'll be infants," I say weakly.
"Babies love jogging!" Cara insists. "Right, June?”
I recall that Judge is a rower. She shares stories about jogging through all of her pregnancies while other women file into the kitchen for snacks.
"And I'll teach them to bake," Thora adds. "Cookies, cakes, bread?—"
"They'll be babies," Aunt Alice interjects. "Maybe start with purees."
"Details." Thora waves a hand.
My head is spinning. More introductions—Tucker's brother Alder, and his girlfriend, Lena, the team dentist. His other brother Gunnar and his wife Emerson, who's glowing and can't stop touching her own barely-there baby bump.
"We just found out!" Emerson smiles. "Twelve weeks! I feel so great.”
