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“I think they did good.”

“Carter bought us a crib, that’s not a small purchase.”

“Do you not like it? I think the warm wood tone will look good in your place.”

“One, you haven’t even seen the baby’s room yet. Two, it was probably seriously expensive.”

“You had your work shower last week, right? What’d they get you?” I asked, hoisting the crib box out of the car. Leah grabbed one of the bags of clothes and followed me to the door, holding it open for me.

“No, thank god. My boss helped me feign sickness and I got to open their horrible gifts without anyone seeing my reactions. My most annoying coworker got me the girliest, frilliest shit I’ve ever seen. No baby needs to look like they’re going to a tea party with the queen.”

“Well …” I chewed at my lip, trying to think of a bright side. But when Leah guided us to the second bedroom, the baby’s room come May, she pulled a god-awful frilly dress out of a bag, and I couldn’t see the silver lining. “You can always donate it.”

“I guess. But I can’t imagine anyone wanting to put their kid in this.” She tossed it aside and set the new clothes by the door. “Anyway, this is gonna be the baby’s room. I don’t know where I’m gonna store all my craft shit, but I’ve still got time to figure it out.”

The room was like the living room, decorated in soft colors, lots of sage green, and stuffed to the brim with shelves of yarn and markers and paints. Against the wall with the door was a dresser topped with photographs of Leah and her parents, the frames the same wood tone of the new crib. The wall across the door had two windows, neither curtained, letting in the soft pink glow of the setting sun.

It was on the small side, smaller than the spare bedroom in my condo, but it was homey and filled with life.

“I think it’s perfect.” I set the crib box down and wrapped my arms around Leah. She relaxed in my arms, leaning her weight into me, trusting me to hold her. And that trust hit me like a rock to the gut. I took a lot of things seriously—my health, my career, my role as captain—but this was so much more than any of that. This, Leah and the baby, this family we were building, was the heaviest responsibility.

“Are you in the headspace to hear some sad bullshit?” Leah asked quietly, her hand finding mine and gently stroking the back of it.

“Yeah, of course. But—” I cut myself off, sensing that the little worry in the back of my mind wasn’t worth ruining the moment.

“But what?” Leah twisted in my arms and raised an eye brow at me.

“I just can’t remember if we closed the car doors. But it’s fine. I’m sure nobody’d take anything. And if they did, they probably need it. Diapers are one of the number one requested items at the shelter. Those and pads,” I rambled, only stopping when Leah pushed us apart.

“Go check the car,” she said with a little laugh. I nodded and ran out to check the car, grabbing another box before closing all the doors and heading back inside. Leah had come into the living room, just settling in on the couch as I entered. She patted the cushion beside her and I set the box aside to join her.

“So,” she started when I sat down, pausing to nudge me horizontal so she could lie on my chest. The anxious buzz in my heart died under her weight and I could quietly wait for her to say what she needed without rushing her. She held her phone up so I could see another picture of her and her parents on the screen. I hadn’t clocked it in the other pictures, but they were older than I expected, significantly older. Her mom’s hair was completely white, the way only red hair went, and her father held himself up with a cane.

“Remember when I said I probably couldn’t get pregnant?” I nodded and she continued. “I was under that assumption because despite years of trying and the IVF stuff available at the time, my mom wasn’t able to get pregnant until her late fities, which is … considerably older than most women can even get pregnant.”

“So she’s …” I tried to count on my fingers, but Leah shook her head.

“She passed away when I was nineteen, Dad a year earlier. Both from just … being old. I mean, pneumonia and a stroke. But if they were younger, those things wouldn’t’ve been fatal.”

“Leah, I’m—”

“Yeah, yeah, it sucks. But it’s also been seven years and I … I don’t know. But I definitely don’t wanna hear any more ‘sorry for your loss’ lines. I just want to contextualize my … fear of getting close to people. Ever since their deaths, I get these full body tremors when I think about getting attached to anyone. Like at the first doctor's appointment, the idea of you acting like my husband made my ears ring. I could see a path to loving you accidentally and all the anxiety I’d have afterward. I have literally bailed in the middle of a date because a guy said something charming. Charming. Had you not said you’re only capable of a one-night stand, I would have bounced so fast.

“So like, I don’t know how violent soccer is, but if you end up in a hospital bed, I will be absolutely useless. So keep that in mind before tackling someone or whatever.”

I wrapped my arms around her waist and held her tightly. “Injuries on the field are common, but they’re typically muscle strains, maybe a broken nose. Nothing that would put me in a hospital overnight.” I almost added the caveat that it technically could happen if I got hit just so, but that was my "needing to see things from every angle" anxiety talking. Her anxiety didn’t shake her the way mine did. “But … have you thought of going to therapy? Or even just getting anxiety meds?”

“You first,” she huffed and I chuckled.

“Fair point.”

“But yes, I have. Before, I sorta dismissed it because I just avoided the triggers and was fine. I mean, I was bored as fuck, but I’d convinced myself that was peace. Now … now might be the time to try. Since you’re triggering my anxiety, wanna cover that medical bill too?”

“Happily,” I said before she could clarify she was joking. Though she was tucked against my chest, I could feel her eyes roll.

“Whatever,” she grumbled before pushing up on her elbows to look at me. “There’s one more thing I wanna trauma dump about. I … missed out on a lot of normal things as a kid because my parents were too old for it, physically or because they didn’t have any interest in it. I only found out what I was missing later on in life. And like, thinking about my issues and what’s happening now, I’m kind of afraid that’ll be the case with our kid. That they’ll miss out on normal things because we’re always going to your games or because we won’t wanna do a thing without the whole family. And to be super honest and egotistical, I’m afraid when I see their disappointment, I’ll get wrapped up in my own bullshit and not be able to support them the way I should. Which, you know, would make me a pretty shit mom.”

“First off,” I said softly, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her in tightly. “You won’t be a bad mom. Bad parents, egotistical people, they don’t worry about that sort of stuff. Let alone years before it could happen. And …” I paused to swallow the lump in my throat. “Worrying about my career schedule is valid. It’s why I’d chosen to not date in the first place. And the idea of missing a match, fuck, even missing out on making admin decisions, makes my muscles spasm. I like knowing everything going on with the team, from the massages the PT folks do to what exercise equipment is ordered. Everything. It … it makes me feel like a better captain to have all that knowledge and involvement. But …”