31. Sully
Sully
B lue or pink.
On the bed, two shirts are laid out. One blue, one pink.
Today is the day we find out whether we’re having a little girl or another little man. My crazy-arse brother was set on having T-shirts made, one sporting Team Blue and the other Team Pink .
I would have gone along with it, but Sloane didn’t love the idea of wearing a T-shirt, so instead I had buttons made and told everyone to wear their team color. Hopefully everyone in this bloody flat did. I’m still debating between the powder blue and the pale pink polo.
I had the doctor write the baby’s gender on two slips of paper and seal them in envelopes, then I took one to the bakery down the road and had them make a cupcake filled with either blue or pink frosting, depending on the single word on that piece of paper, for T.
J. to snack on during the ultrasound. With any luck, it’ll save us from having to explain the whole lack of a penis in front of an ultrasound tech.
Knowing T.J., he will have many questions, and there will be no filter.
Until this week, I never imagined I could be as over-the-top as my brother, but here I am. I took the second envelope to the florist and ordered a massive bouquet of either blue flowers or pink and arranged to have it delivered to Sloane this afternoon.
It might be a lot, but I just want everything to be perfect for today. Including the health of the baby and my wife. I refuse to even think about preeclampsia or losing her. Not when this pregnancy had been going so well.
As I eye the shirts again, a phrase I’ve been hearing a lot floats through my head.
Don’t doubt a mother’s intuition . Sloane is sure this is a baby boy.
So sure that she has already started a list of potential boy names starting with T .
Regardless of gender, we’re sticking with a T name to go with T.J.
Since Sloane and I both have S names, it’s fitting.
Can’t say I love Tristan, but it’s currently her favorite.
My eyes drift back to the pink polo. I cannot erase the image of a dark-haired little girl with Sloane’s blue eyes and smile from my mind. So, I might be wrong, but I’m going pink.
I slip the polo over my head and wander out to the kitchen, trying not to second-guess my choice. The last thing I want is for Sloane to think I don’t trust her.
Cal’s eyes narrow at me the second he sees my shirt.
“Blue.” He points to his navy pants, blue dress shirt and blue striped tie.
“Blue,” he repeats, pointing to the two buttons he’s pinned to his chest, one on each side of his tie.
“Even Fuzzy understands.” He nods toward his cat, who’s batting at himself, trying to dislodge the massive blue bow someone— probably Cal —put around his neck.
I sigh. We had a conversation about the risks of going against Sloane’s intuition. I’m not against Sloane in any way. She’s probably right, and I will be thrilled with another son. But I can’t help the way my heart tugs at the thought of a baby girl.
Frowning, he flings a hand toward his girlfriend. “She got the memo.”
Lo scoffs. “I think it’s a girl, but I don’t do pink. So.” She gestures to her dress. “Navy it is.”
Brian hardly looks up from his laptop, where he’s probably reading the Wall Street Journal like he does every morning as he leans to the left, showing off his team blue button and matching tie.
Before I can respond, T.J. races out of his room in a Superman T-shirt. “Team Blue!” he announces with a fist pump. “Baby brother, here I come.”
“Murph.” Cal frowns, craning his neck.
When I get a look at my nephew, the betrayal in my brother’s tone makes sense. Murphy is sporting a skateboarding shirt with a sunset painted in oranges and pinks.
“Well.” He rocks back on his little feet and tucks his hands into the pockets of his pants, looking so much like his dad.
“I know you said not to upset Aunt Sloane, but I think she’s wrong.
” His forehead scrunches a bit. “Plus.” He squints at my son, who is running around the room, arms spread wide like he’s an airplane, chasing Dammit.
“I think one T.J. is enough for this family.”
Brian chokes on a cough; I can’t help but smile.
A throat clears softly, then my wife appears at the end of the hall. Her bright blue sweater matches her eyes and her face is glowing, making her look even more beautiful than she normally does.
“Pink, huh?” She steps up and wraps an arm around my waist.
“I’m not itching for a row. I swear—” I stammer.
She lifts a finger to my lips, silencing me. “I might be feeling boy,” she whispers, a soft smile twitching at her lips. “But I hope you’re right.”
“Just to make it interesting,” Cal pipes in. “Let’s make a bet. Losing team cleans the?—”
Lo growls.
Cal whips toward her. “Losing males. Not you,” he promises with his token pretty boy smirk. When she rolls her eyes, he turns back to me. “The losing males clean the bathroom for a month.”
Sloane’s answering giggle sells me on the idea instantly. “Sure,” I agree. “But if we don’t go now, we’ll be late.”
“You’ll text as soon as you know, right?” Lo reminds my wife .
“Come on, T.J.” I snag the bakery box off the counter and herd my family out of the flat.
“If I put this here, you’ll hold it right, bud?” I ask as I set the small box on the seat next to him.
“We can strap it in.” T.J. pulls the belt around the little box, causing the cardboard to crush a little.
I wince, but I bite my tongue. The damage won’t change the taste, and that’s all that matters. That and the gender reveal part.
“Yoo-hoo!” Madame E calls. “So excited for the big day!”
I turn and give her a small wave. “We are.”
She stops in front of me and surveys my button. “I always knew you were an intuitive one, Sullivan. While the rest of your crew walks around sporting all that team blue silliness, you and I clearly know it’s a baby girl.”
Sloane freezes halfway into the front seat and darts a look at Madame E. “What?”
No, no, no . I see it on Sloane’s face. If Madame E confirms it, then she’ll believe her. And I have a plan.
“No—”
Before I can shut her down, our resident psychic predicts the future. “Yes, a little baby girl. I’ve been seeing her for a while now. And I love the name. Tia H?—”
“Don’t.” I cut her off, looking desperately to my wife, whose lips are pursed like she’s fighting a smile.
“Oh, yes,” Madame E responds, her voice fading as she moves to her tiny car. “Maybe you haven’t picked it yet, and oh, how fun the surprise will be.”
Bloody hell. Now she realizes we might want a surprise?
I turn back to Sloane, who’s fully seated in the passenger seat, giggling, and close her door.
“Did she say it’s a girl?” T.J. asks his mum, his voice loud enough to be heard outside the car. “Does that mean we don’t have to go to this boring doctor thing?” he asks as I climb in.
“What?” I ask .
Sloane shrugs. “We know it’s a girl now.”
I suck in a breath. “We bloody well don’t. We aren’t just taking her word for it.” Yes, the woman might make clever guesses from time to time, but I’m not taking her word when it comes to such a big detail.
“I’m not eating a pink cupcake.” T.J. huffs. “Pink is gross.”
Great. I rub a hand down my face. There goes my perfect day.
“We’re still going, Sully.” Sloane pats my leg. “This is also an anatomy scan.”
“We don’t know—” I stop myself. It’s pointless. I can see in my wife’s eyes that she already knows. Frankly, who the hell am I to doubt Madame E? She’s annoyingly accurate.
The appointment turns into a chore rather than an exciting experience. T.J. fidgets through the scan, and we tossed the cupcakes—yes, plural; in case Sloane had a craving for something sweet—on the way in, because according to our son, no one eats pink cupcakes.
Although the tech confirms that we’re having a healthy baby girl, the blood pressure reading the nurse said aloud as she documented put a damper on my excitement.
It’s still well within a healthy range, but it’s higher than the last time we were here.
The doctor might not be worried, but that doesn’t stop my own concern for the love of my life.
“Can we go to Extreme Energy?” T.J. asks on our way out.
“Might not be a bad idea. Burn off some of his energy?” Sloane suggests.
The indoor playground with the ninja warrior course is on the way home and does wonders for wearing him out. So I begrudgingly agree. This way, at least one of us will be happy.
We’re hardly in the door before T.J. is scampering up the rope nets hanging above the ball pit. Less enthusiastically, Sloane and I make our way to a table and I help her sit.
“I’m sorry today didn’t go the way you wanted.” Sloane rubs her round tummy as she watches the throng of kids playing in front of us. “Your efforts didn’t go unnoticed, and I’m still excited.”
“Sloane.” I place my hand over hers. “I wanted today to be special. I wanted you to know how much you and our family mean to me. But that doesn’t mean I’m not over the moon about our little girl.”
That image from this morning reappears, and a lump lodges itself in my throat.
“A little girl with your eyes, and your sense of humor and your smile.”
Sloane’s eyes glisten with unshed tears. “As long as she has your heart.”
I give her hand a squeeze.
“I do like the name Tia,” she muses.
“Tia Hope.” I nod. “Because this little girl is the reason I finally have hope. Hope for myself. Hope for us. Hope for our future.”
With a dip of her chin, she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. “Tia Hope Murphy.”
She leans toward me but just as our lips meet, our son screams. “Help me, Daddy!”
I yank back and scan the room. When I don’t find him immediately, I jump out of the chair and rush toward the climbing area.
“I’m up here!” he announces from somewhere above me.
I tip my head up toward the top of the structure but I don’t see him. Frantically, I look a bit higher on the poles that hold the ropes.
“No, I’m up here,” T. J. repeats.
I look higher into the rafters and find him sitting far above the nets, on what looks like an AC vent.
“How in the bloody hell…” I scan the room, finding the yellow ladder-like structures that lead up to metal scaffolding that probably holds the entire climbing gym together. Above that are the rafters and the vents. My son, who never thinks anything through, clearly just kept climbing.
I shake my head.
“I’ll get the little Superman,” I assure Sloane.
“Of course you will. You’re Super Daddy,” she says.
“Not super but trying,” I remind her .
“Better Daddy.”
Her words bring back that lump in my throat. That’s what I’m desperate to be. Better for her. Better for our kids.
Since I’m quite a bit larger than my six-year-old, it takes time and maneuvering to fit myself up through the ropes and rafters to get to him.
It takes twice as long to get down with him clinging to me like a baby monkey.
Add in the traffic getting back over the bridge into Jersey, and it’s dinnertime by the time we make it back to the flat.
“Where have you all been?” Cal asks the second we’re through the door.
“We were at Extreme Energy,” T.J. explains, conveniently leaving out his adventure into the rafters.
“That’s it.” Cal snaps his fingers. “It’s the perfect place for Murphy’s party. Come celebrate Murphy turning seven with the best climby timey ever!”
Sloane groans, though the sound is cut off when she notices the massive bouquet of pink flowers on the Ping-Pong table.
“They came for you a few hours ago. Along with a card.” Lo plucks it out of the bouquet. “I swear, even I swooned.”
I scowl. I didn’t mean for her to see it.
“I don’t know whether these will be blue or pink yet,” she reads, “but I know he or she will be perfect because they are ours. I hope you enjoyed our special day. A thousand todays would never be enough. Love Sully.”
Sloane takes the card out of Lo’s hand and tucks it against her chest. Maybe today didn’t turn out the way I wanted, but seeing the smile on Sloane’s face makes it feel perfect anyway.