Allie sat cross-legged on the couch, her dark curls pulled back into a sleek puff, the kind of no-nonsense style that meant she’d been chasing deadlines all morning. She looked calm—calmer than I was, at least—like she had already rehearsed every possible outcome. Which, knowing her, she probably had.
Carolina was in her room, humming loudly enough to carry down the hall, probably elbow-deep in a bucket of markers and pipe cleaners. She had no idea her world was about to tilt on its axis.
“You ready?” Allie asked, raising one perfectly skeptical brow.
“Define ready,” I muttered.
Her smile was small, almost gentle. “She’s going to be fine, B. You know how much she’s always wanted a little sister,andshealready adores Dani. She still hasn’t shut up about that apron Dani got her.”
My lips turned up. Dani and I had taken a cooking class with Nessa and Pink last week, a double date that had had disaster written all over it, given how many sharp knives and open flames had been involved. Somehow, we’d made it through the evening with everyone’s limbs intact—a personal victory, in my opinion—and a small souvenir for Carolina: a gingham apron that reminded me of something out ofThe Wizard of Oz. Carolina had been practically glued to the apron ever since, parading around the kitchen like a tiny sous-chef, bossing us around with the authority of Gordon Ramsay.
“She lectured me about gluten-free flour substitutes on the way to school last week,” I marveled while pacing the rug. “Are we sure she’s our kid?”
Allie held her hands up in front of her. “Don’t look at me. You’re the vegan.”
The sudden thud of little feet padding down the stairs had me adjusting my hat, low enough so the brim bumped my glasses. Carolina’s soft hum turned into an off-key Disney ballad and my throat closed up.
Showtime.
“Here we go,” Allie murmured, like we were about to pull off a heist instead of talk to our six-year-old about her future sibling. “Caro, can you come here for a minute?”
The humming stopped. A few seconds later, Carolina padded in, curls slightly frizzy from whatever craft project she’d been buried in. She climbed onto the couch between us, suspicious as a cat.
“Am I in trouble?”
“No, cutie,” I said quickly. “Not even a little.”
She studied us with curiosity, then plopped back dramatically against the cushions, clearly bracing for whatever bombshell we were about to drop.
I took a breath and squatted in front of the couch. My knees cracked in protest, a sharp reminder that I’d spent two decades crouched behind the plate, calling pitches and eating foul tips for breakfast. Some habits—and the aches that came with them—never went away.
Allie gave me a sharp nod, one that saidyou’ve got this.
“You know how you’ve always wanted a little sister?”
“Uh-huh.” Her eyes widened instantly. “Wait, are you getting me one for my birthday? Like, for real?”
“That’s what we wanted to tell you,” Allie said gently. “Daddy and Dani are having a baby. You’re going to be a big sister.”
Carolina gasped so hard I thought she might pass out. Then she flung herself upright, knees digging into the couch cushions. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh!” She turned to me, eyes round as saucers. “Do I get to name her?”
I laughed, relief loosening the knot in my chest. “You can definitely give us ideas.”
My heart lurched when her excitement faltered suddenly, her little mouth twisting into a frown.
I knew this was going too well.
“Wait a second,” she said. “If you and Dani are having a baby, does that mean that you and Mommy aren’t my mom and dad anymore?”
Allie pressed her fingers to her lips, trying to hold back a laugh. I scooped up Carolina and sat back down on the couch with her in my lap.
“Cutie, we willalwaysbe your mommy and daddy. That’s never going to change. You’re just going to have a little sister who looks up to you, too.”
“It just means even more people to love you,” Allie added, smoothing a hand down her curls. “You’re not losing anything, honey. You’re gaining.”
We all are.
Carolina considered our words, gnawing her lip the same way her daddy did—my team knew that look well. It was the universal signal that I was grinding through a decision, weighing the odds pitch by pitch.
