Page 35 of Wicked Brutal

I stare at her. “Mom. We are currently hiding this baby from a dangerous fucking family situation, and you have jumped straight to a baby shower.”

“I am aware of the situation, Ryan. Planning is private. Planning hurts no one.”

“Planning is insane at ten weeks.”

Mom looks genuinely offended. “Planning is never insane.” Ally laughs through her tears, and Mom turns to her, delighted. “Do you want one?”

Ally’s laughter dies into confusion. “A baby shower? I’ve — I’ve never thought about it. Nobody’s ever—“

“Well, don’t think about it right now,” Mom says briskly, already picking up her phone. “I’ll just make a preliminary spreadsheet.”

“No,” I say.

She ignores me completely. “Cat likes spreadsheets,” she says, and Ally starts laughing again, actually laughing, and Mom’s already typing. “I’m texting her.”

“You are not texting Cat about a baby shower while we are standing here in the middle of the actual pregnancy reveal—“

“Why not? She already knows.”

“How do you—“

Mom stops typing and looks at me. “Does she?”

“...Yes.”

“Then we’re fine.”

I look at Dad. “Help.”

“Nope. I’m enjoying myself for the first time all week.”

Mom mutters as she types. “Venue can wait. Theme obviously waits. Guest list—“

“Mom.”

“I’m making categories, Ryan, not reservations.”

Ally wipes her face and says, quietly, “I like spreadsheets."

Mom’s head snaps up like a hawk spotting movement. “Oh.” She reaches for Ally’s hand. “Come sit by me.”

I point at both of them. “This is how cults start.”

“Go talk to your father,” Mom says.

Dad pulls me toward the other side of the kitchen, and for the first time since I walked in, it’s just us. He looks at me — really looks at me — and then he hugs me. No joke, no warning, just one arm around my shoulders and the other hand at the back of my head, pulling me in. I hug him back. His voice, when it comes, is low enough that only I hear it.

“You don’t have to know how to be a father yet.” My throat closes. His hand tightens once at the back of my neck. “You just have to keep choosing them. Every day. That’s the whole job at the start.”

“I am,” I manage.

“I know you are.” He pulls back but keeps a hand on my shoulder. “You happy?”

“Yeah. Scared as hell, but yeah.”

“So was I. Still am, most days.” He glances past me to where Ally’s sitting beside Mom, looking at whatever’s on the phone, crying and laughing at the same time. “You love her.”

Not a question. “Yeah.”