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“It’s a gender reveal, so no. What did you get?”
“Diapers,” he said. “And I wrote that you’re an idiot on all of them. Something to read in the middle of the night.”
I grinned. “Thanks, man.”
Dante was already there with Hannah, and my parents were there too. Scarlett stood in a dress and heels, her large stomach noticeable in the baggy fabric. She was talking to her father, who had his arm around Hannah, and Scarlett was rubbing her stomach absent-mindedly like she always did.
“Nervous?” Theo asked.
“Why would I be nervous?”
“I’d be nervous as fuck if I were going to be a father.”
“I’m excited, man.”
“You know what the sex is?”
“Nope. Aldo is the only one who knows.”
Theo crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you think it is?”
I shrugged.
“What do you hope it is?”
“I honestly don’t care. Boy or girl, doesn’t matter to me.”
“Well, I think it’s a boy.”
“Why?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Look at how big she is. That’s obviously a big boy.”
“Did you just call my wife fat?”
He smirked. “I would never.”
Scarlett came over and hugged Theo. “So glad you came. And you brought a gift.”
“Diapers,” he said. “No idea if they’re the right size.”
She smiled. “Whatever the size, the baby will fit into them eventually.” She rubbed her dress over her stomach, arching her back more than she used to, to accommodate the extra weight. It was harder for her to get around, so our nights were spent in front of the TV with me rubbing her feet or her back. She didn’t cook anymore, and she’d stopped going into the restaurant forthe time being. But despite her discomfort, she was very excited. “Now that everyone’s here, ready to find out if we’re having a boy or a girl?”
“I’m ready.” Theo looked at me. “What about you?”
“I’ve been ready since the day she told me she was pregnant.” My arm moved around her waist, and we walked to the cake on the kitchen island. Aldo had ordered it from her favorite bakery, and the inside was colored pink for a girl or blue for a boy.
“Oh my god, I’m so nervous,” she said.
Her father and Hannah gathered around with my parents, all of whom were equally excited about their first grandchild.
I grabbed the cake knife and handed it to her. “Would you like to do the honors, baby?”
“I don’t know. I’m so nervous.”
“Here.” I had her take the end of the handle. “Just hold it.” I grabbed the handle closer to the blade and did it for her, having her hold on and let the knife move on its own. We sliced into the soft frosting and the layers below. The shadow in the crack was still too dark to distinguish anything, so we made another cut on the other side.
“I don’t see any color yet,” Dante said.
