Theo
You mean Dough-gy?
Beau
That’s not its name and you know it. I would never name my starter after a bad golf score. Bad juju.
Asher
Apologies to Betty.
Beau
Thank you. Put some respect on her name. RIP to my favorite Golden Girl.
Theo
You mean the longest relationship Devereaux has ever had?
Beau
Fuck you both.
Maddox
I’m so glad I’m in this group.
Ilaugh and put my phone back in my pocket as Gabi and I wait in the doctor’s office. I wish she knew her older brother was a sourdough expert. The man makes one hell of a cheddar and jalapeño loaf. Sugar and Sweets would make a killing if he sold it there.
“Does it feel like this is flying? Because I swear we just found out yesterday,” I say as the nurse calls back another couple.
She looks over to me, her head falling to my shoulder as she rests her hands on her growing baby bump. “It’s somehow going so fast that I’m freaking out that we have nothing ready, but I also feel like I’ve been pregnant forever. And we’re only at the halfway mark.”
Today is twenty weeks to the day that Gabi has been pregnant, which means we’re set up for the big gender reveal. And when I say big, I mean her and I. Knowing her ex has exhibited tendencies to stalk her social media, and that anything I post goes immediately viral, we both agreed that keeping it off of the internet was best. Our families and friends know. Most of my teammates, coaches, and my agent know. And now that she’s clearly showing, the regulars at Sugar and Sweets know. Phyllis and Kitty—who of course claim that they knew she was pregnant way before we did—are already knitting baby blankets.
On the same note, we decided against a big party. Would I have liked one? Sure. I’m always down for a party. But we’re under limited time with me a few weeks away from training camp and Gabi starting to hire and train more people to help once she’s out for maternity leave. Then there’s my grand idea of house hunting in between all that. With all of those factors, it was an easy decision to keep the gender with just the two of us. And, of course, the doctor when we find out in roughly thirty minutes.
“We have some things ready,” I say as I put my arm around her, giving her a better angle to rest her head on my shoulder. “I mean, we did get a house.”
That brings a huge smile to her face. “Not just a house. Our perfect house.”
A little known fact about professional athletes is that the real estate market moves fast between us. Players are always getting cut or traded. Which means players are always moving in and out of the city.
That next morning after Gabi sucked me off so good I decided to buy her a house—zero regrets on that decision, in case anyone was wondering—we started putting our wants together. How many bedrooms and bathrooms. Ranch or two-story. How far out of the city we’d consider moving. If a commercial bakingkitchen could be installed so Gabi doesn’t have to head into the bakery on her day off to make one thousand cookies for the local bake sale. Or if the Poker Club needs a new location. You know, the important things.
After we settled on a four-bedroom, three-bath house that’s no more than ten miles outside downtown Nashville, we went on and made our wish list. Things we’d love for it to have, ranking from “really, really, want” to, “I mean, it would be nice.”
And yes, those are the actual names of the columns Gabi wrote down in my new homeowner notebook.
For her, it was a big kitchen, complete with a massive center island that could also serve as a breakfast bar, a wrap-around porch, and an oversized bathtub. I wanted a swimming pool and a bonus entertaining space, so that way I could have my teammates over. Some of our veteran guys do that, and I love how it always bonds us. As I grow through the organization, I know one day I’ll be a veteran, and I want to keep that tradition alive. Oh, and a big back yard for Tiny Tot and, of course, my hypothetical—but we’re totally getting—dog, Sir Barkley.
When we looked at the list, we wondered if we could ever find anything that would even come close to matching our dream home. We considered the possibility of building, but we wanted to be in before the baby comes in November. And then fate said hold my beer, and the BlueBirds traded a veteran left fielder who happened to live in our perfect home.
In the blink of an eye, I was writing one of the biggest checks I’ve ever written, and we were signing roughly eighty-thousand pages of paperwork. I was all smiles once I scribbled my name on the final line. Poor Gabi looked like she was going to pass out. But she recovered, and walked away with keys to our new house—one we’re going to start moving into after training camp in August.
“Can I admit something to you?”
“Depends. Is it gonna be one of those times where you tell me I'm right? I really love those times.”
