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There’s a pause, and I hear Dad muttering something about technology being more trouble than it’s worth. Then Mom’s voice comes back, a bit hesitant.
“Okay, we see the option. It says ‘Integrated Webcam.’ Is that right?”
“Click on it and make sure it’s activated. You should see a preview pop up if it’s working.”
Silence falls, interrupted by the occasional click and murmur. Then Dad’s voice bursts back on the line, loud and clear.
“Hey, there we are! I see us!”
More clicking, a brief pause, and then Mom’s face is way too close to the camera when she exclaims, her voice now clear and bright, “We’re in! We see everyone! Oh, look, there’s Gwenie!”
Marks pops on. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Just in time,” I assure him then look at Gwen. “You wanna?—”
Her eyes immediately fill with tears, and she shakes her head.
“Oh no, is everything okay?” Mom asks, and everyone’s faces become etched with concern, even Mama Deb, who would make a hell of an actress.
“Everything’s great. Gwen and I have some news to share, but we will ask that you all fight back your instincts to go overboard due to the sensitive nature.”
“You’re retiring.” Dad nods.
I look at Gwen. “You wanna just show them?”
“You’re so extra,” she says as she stands and opens her cardigan, exposing her tank-top-covered twenty-nine-week baby bump.
There’s screaming and crying. All those sounds are happy. And when my wife looks down, she’s beaming.
I frame her belly with my hands, lean in, and kiss it. “These are your grandparents and Uncle Marks, little slugger.”
“Or little Lockett,” Gwen adds.
“Uncle Marks makes me sound like a predator,” comes from the computer, and Gwen and I laugh.
I have Gwen sit on my lap and adjust the camera so that I can see us sitting like this, little slugger’s dugout exposed and, I might add, sexy.
“The reason we’ve been quiet about this is that the pregnancy is high risk. My wife doesn’t want a house full of baby things or anyone treating her like she’s fragile, because she’s not. She’s still the beautiful, little trouble-making badass she’s always been.”
“What kind of risks?” Mom asks.
“Weak cervix,” I answer, which is the simplest explanation, and it’s not a lie.
“Do we know if it’s a boy or a girl?” Dad asks.
I look up at Gwen and shake my head.
“Healthy?” Annie asks.
“Perfectly healthy,” I answer.
“And Mom?” Mama Deb asks.
“Pissed my clothes don’t fit anymore.” She smiles.
“Baby number one’s always the easiest to hide. Baby two and three, not a chance,” Mom adds.
“We’re sticking with one,” I state firmly.
