Before we left for the venue, I pulled a henley over my burgeoning belly and hoped the crews hadn’t secretly demanded a white-tie dress code.
When we pulled in, Station 9's trucks and Station 12's personal vehicles were side by side. These people had been at each other's throats for years over a trophy, and now they were in the same bar gifting us onesies.
The back room had been transformed with streamers and balloons. It was as though two people, one from each crew,had bought decorations and nobody coordinated. A banner read “Congratulations Percy & Larkin,” and beneath it, in smaller letters in a different marker: “And little one.”
I giggled, thinking it should have said, “And egg.”
Why doesn’t it?my dragon demanded.This pushy egg is taking up all the space, and I want it out of here, please.
There were two food tables side by side with a strip of masking tape down the middle. Station 12's side had a catered spread with neat trays of sandwiches and a cheese board. It was similar to something I’d seen in a magazine. Station 9's side featured Tom's chili, Briggs's sister’s brownies, and a vegetable tray with the grocery store price still on it.
Awww, they were my people, and I loved them.
My parents found us, and my alpha dad pulled me into a hug so tight I worried about the egg, while my father shook Larkin's hand.
The first time they’d met months ago, I’d wondered if Father had thought, “This is the man that got my son pregnant.” But any awkwardness had passed, especially when Larkin called Father “sir” and they’d bonded over furniture building.
Larkin's parents arrived, and my mate did the introductions. We’d FaceTimed previously, but this was the first meeting in person. His mom hugged me and said, “You’re as sweet as Larkin told us you were.”
Sweet? Who said that? Nobody here is sweet, except maybe the egg.
I shushed my beast and filed away that tidbit from my mother-in-law so I could tease Larkin tonight.
Hallie appeared from the midst of the balloon forest and hugged me. “Pregnancy suits you.”
“I look like I swallowed a watermelon. Or maybe a basketball. I can’t decide.”
“A very cute basketball.” She turned to Larkin. “I bought you the best gift.”
She handed us a gift bag, and my mate removed what looked like an album. But it was a baby book, and the only photo was one taken from the kickoff barbecue with the caption, “Where it all began.”
“Oh, that’s amazing. Thank you.” I couldn’t contain my tears. I’d gotten used to the phenomenon of weeping over the slightest things during my pregnancy.
Janice approached me with a clipboard and informed me that she'd organized games that were to be timed and scored, and the winning station got bragging rights.
“Janice, this is a baby shower, not a competition.” Larkin wasn’t doing a great job of hiding his laughter.
She fixed him with a look. “Everything is a competition.”
The belly-measuring game was first. Both stations took it seriously. Tom's estimate was so large it could have wrapped around an engine, while Ken’s was off by less than an inch and received a standing ovation.
The cloth-diaper-folding race was bedlam. Briggs pinned the diaper to his finger. Dustin folded diapers like an origami swan. Larkin won, of course, because he was neat and symmetrical, and he completed it in seconds.
“You’ve been practicing,” Hallie observed. “I’m glad you’re thinking of the environment and not using disposable ones.”
“I’ve been watching YouTube,” Larkin admitted, and everyone laughed.
The baby-name contest was last. Station 12 submitted Jimmy, Odell, and Cherrie. Station 9 submitted Blaze, Flint, and Hose.
“Hose?” I stared at the paper. “Who submitted that? We’re not choosing that for our baby.”
Tom raised his hand. “It's gender neutral,” he argued.
My alpha dad, who'd been watching from the bar, called out, “What about Enya if the baby is a girl? It means little fire.”
I like that. Choose Enya. There was my dragon with his opinions.
I glanced at my mate.
