Chapter 18 #2
I shake my head and gesture. These are his parents. It should be him doing the big reveal. He knows them best, and I don’t trust myself not to throw up if I say the words aloud.
“Hoooo,” Tucker sighs, perching on the arm of the chair where I’m sitting.
“So, Mom, Dad already knows this, and I obviously want you to know that…” Judge looks between her husband and Tucker.
I can feel her confusion and discomfort, and it intensifies my own.
Tucker meets my eye and then smiles. I can almost forget that this is a nightmare.
That nothing can happen between us other than shared responsibility.
That he will probably flame out of even that.
Because that smile is the sort of thing that could fool a woman as fast as it melts her underwear.
He looks back at his mother. “Sloane’s pregnant. We’re having twins.”
The room falls silent apart from the heartbeat that’s back pounding in my ears. Is my blood pressure dangerously high? Maybe I should leave and go right to the hospital and hide for seven months.
But suddenly I hear a shriek, and I’m jolted back to reality by the sight of Juniper Jones jumping and clapping her hands.
“Really? Babies? My gosh, Ty, does this make us grandparents?” Mr. Stag nods as she starts smacking his chest. “And you knew! Oh, baby, I’m glad you felt like you could go to your father with something big.
Ty, I really thought it would be Gunnar and Emerson first, didn’t you? Twins. Twins!”
Once she runs out of electricity, she sinks into the couch, head on her husband’s shoulder.
Tucker laughs quietly and looks like he wants to pat my arm, but doesn’t.
“Yeah. Twins.” A series of beeps emerges from the kitchen, and he downs the rest of his drink, crushing the can as he stands.
“Let me grab the casserole, and we can talk about it more while we eat.”
I’m not sure how I manage to move from the armchair to the high back chair at Tucker’s table, but before I know it, I have a plate of steaming rice and mushrooms and savory chicken to go with my bubbly water.
I am surprised by how amazing everything smells, and despite my anxiety, my stomach growls appreciatively.
"Dig in," Judge says, sitting across from me. "Please, don't be shy."
For a few minutes, everyone focuses on serving themselves and passing dishes. The silence is punctuated by the clink of silverware and appreciative murmurs about the food.
Then Mr. Stag sets down his fork and looks at me with those kind eyes. "So, Sloane, Tucker mentioned you're in school. Public health?"
"Yes." I swallow my bite of casserole. "I'm just starting up again. It's been... challenging, getting back into student mode after so long. I’m going to be doing a research project with social safety net programs locally."
"Oh, that does sound interesting." He glances at Tucker. "Our family has always valued social safety nets. Juniper's a judge in family court, as Tucker probably mentioned."
"He did." I look at Judge. "That's impressive."
"It's demanding," she says with a smile. "But rewarding. And Ty made it possible by being the primary parent when our boys were young."
"You really stayed home with all those boys? Instead of playing pro hockey?” I hope my curiosity doesn’t come across as judgmental. It’s such a foreign concept for me that I truly cannot imagine that level of commitment from a man.
Mr. Stag’s expression is proud. "Best job I ever had. Don't get me wrong—I loved playing. But being there for my sons' childhoods? Nothing compares."
The conversation flows more easily than I expected. They ask about my classes, my goals, what drew me to public health. They share stories about raising four boys, about the chaos and joy of a full house. Tucker chimes in occasionally, but mostly he just watches, a small smile on his face.
I'm starting to relax, starting to think maybe this won't be so bad, when Judge sets down her water glass and leans forward.
"So, twins," she says, her eyes bright with excitement. "That's going to be quite the adventure."
"Yeah." I touch my stomach instinctively. "It's still sinking in."
"Well, the good news is you'll have plenty of support." Tucker’s mom pulls out her phone. "I've already been thinking about schedules. If we coordinate properly, you'll have around-the-clock help."
"Schedules?" I ask uncertainly.
"For babysitting rotations," Mr. Stag explains. "Between us and Tucker's brothers and cousins, we can make sure you're never without help. Especially those first few months when you're sleep-deprived and overwhelmed."
"We'll set up a shared calendar," Judge continues, scrolling through her phone. "I can take Tuesdays and Thursdays. Ty can do Mondays and Wednesdays when I have night court. That gives you weekdays covered, and then—"
"Wait." I hold up a hand, my chest tightening. "The babies aren't due for months."
"Oh, I know," Judge says, still scrolling. "But it's good to plan ahead. And with twins, you're going to need all the help you can get. Trust me, it's no joke."
"My brothers will want to help too," Tucker adds. "Alder especially. He's great with kids."
"And your aunts,” Tucker’s dad jumps in. “Imagine Lucy taking them out in her jogging stroller?”
They keep talking—about cribs and diaper services and the best pediatricians in Pittsburgh. About how Mr. Stag will build the nursery furniture himself because he's currently obsessed with woodworking. About how Judge knows a wonderful doula who helped them with the twins.
Each suggestion is well-meaning. Each offer is genuinely kind. But with every word, I feel smaller. More trapped. Like I'm disappearing into their plans, their schedules, their perfectly coordinated family system.
"We should probably set up a nursery at our house too," Judge says. "For when the babies stay over. It'll be easier if we have everything they need."
"Stay over?" My voice comes out sharper than I intended.
"Well, yes." She looks surprised. "So, you and Tucker can have date nights. Or so you can rest. New parents need breaks."
“Tucker and I aren’t dating,” I manage to say.
"Of course, of course." Mr. Stag waves a hand. "We're getting ahead of ourselves. It's just—we're excited, you know? A grandchild. Two grandchildren! It's wonderful news."
“You’re going to be a Pappy,” Judge grins. “I think I’m a Mimi.”
Mr. Stag throws a napkin at her. “Whatever you say, Mee-maw.”
“Ugh.” She laughs. “Can you imagine?”
I can't imagine. Can't imagine being part of a family this large, this involved, this... present.
“It’s been a long time since we had a baby at Stagsgiving,” Tucker’s dad continues and then, realizing he’s said a confusing word, he turns to me.
"We do our own version of Thanksgiving dinner since half the kids have professional sports games on the actual day. Alice always manages to find a few hours where all of us can make it. Total chaos.”
"You'll need to come to those," Judge adds. "It's important the babies grow up knowing their family."
"I haven't agreed to any of this," I say quietly.
The table goes silent. Three sets of eyes turn to me—Tucker's worried, his parents' confused.
"Agreed to what?" Judge asks gently.
"Any of it. The schedules, the sleepovers, the family dinners." My voice is shaking now. "You're making all these plans about my babies without even asking what I want."
"Sloane—" Tucker starts, but I cut him off.
"No. This is exactly what I was afraid of.
" I stand abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor.
"Everyone deciding what's best for me, what my life should look like, how I should raise my children.
I didn't agree to be absorbed into your family system.
I didn't agree to weekly dinners and coordinated schedules and—"
"We're just trying to help," Mr. Stag says, looking genuinely bewildered.
"I know." And that's what makes it worse. "I know you mean well. But I already spent five years in a relationship where everyone made decisions about my life. Where I disappeared into someone else's world." I look at Tucker, tears burning my eyes. "I told you I couldn't do that again."
"This isn't the same thing," Tucker says, standing. "Sloane, we're not trying to control you. We're offering support."
"It feels like control." My breath is coming too fast now. "It feels like you're all planning out my life without me. Like I'm just supposed to smile and nod and be grateful."
“I think we came on too strong—" Judge starts.
"I know what you meant!" The words come out too loud, too sharp. "I know you're trying to be kind. But I can't—I can't do this. I can't be part of this."
I grab my purse from where I'd set it on a side table. Tucker reaches for me, but I step back.
"I need to go."
"Sloane, please—"
"I'm sorry." I look at Juniper Jones and Ty Stag, who both look shocked and hurt. "Thank you for dinner. I'm sorry I—I just need to go."
I'm already moving toward the door, toward the elevator. Tucker follows.
"Let me drive you home."
"I'll take an Uber."
"Sloane—"
The elevator doors open and I step inside, jabbing the lobby button repeatedly until the doors close. Through the gap, I see Tucker standing in his hallway, his parents behind him, all three of them looking concerned and confused.
The last thing I see before the doors shut completely is Tucker's face—devastated.
I make it to the lobby before the tears start. I'm crying in the back of an Uber, still crying when I stumble into my apartment, still crying when Mel finds me curled up on my bed.
"What happened?" she asks, wheeling close.
"I ruined everything," I manage between sobs.
“Oh, Sloane!” I feel the mattress dip as she transfers herself into bed beside me. “Tell me.”
Through sputtering, choking sobs, I tell her how Tucker’s stupid promotional condoms resulted in me pregnant. With twins. And his family wants to take control of all our lives.
By the time I get it all out, she’s nodding robotically and slumped against my pillow. I watch her expression shift from confusion to shock to something like understanding.
"Oh," she says softly. "Oh, Sloane."
"And now his whole family wants to be involved, and I don't know how to do any of this and I'm so scared I'm going to lose myself again."
Mel reaches for my hand, squeezing tight. "You're not going to lose yourself."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're already fighting for yourself. That's what tonight was about, right? Setting boundaries. Protecting yourself." She squeezes again. "That's not losing yourself, Sloane. That's finding yourself."
I want to believe her. Want to believe that running out of Tucker's apartment was self-preservation and not self-sabotage.
My phone buzzes with a message.
Tucker
Please let me know you got home okay.
I stare at the message, fresh tears blurring my vision.
I'm home.
Tucker
I’m so sorry. This is on us. On me. I should have warned them to go slower.
It's not your fault.
Tucker
Can we talk tomorrow? When you're ready?
I don't respond. Don't know what to say. Instead, I curl up against Mel's shoulder, let her stroke my hair, and cry until I have no tears left.