Chapter Thirty-Three
The Family Way
Three Months Later
After all the chaos has ended, things return to normal---for the most part.
But our families insist on throwing a huge gender reveal party.
My wife and I already know our baby's sex, but we couldn't bring ourselves to tell them so.
The backyard of our Portland home is packed with both sides of our families, plus a few teammates and friends who couldn't resist the chance to celebrate with us.
Blue and pink streamers hang from the trees, and a massive balloon archway frames the entrance to our garden.
It's all a bit ridiculous, but I can't help smiling at the effort everyone's put in.
Regan is beside me, her hand resting protectively on her barely visible baby bump.
At twelve weeks, she's starting to show, though it's subtle.
Nothing more than a gentle curve she still tries to hide beneath oversized sweaters and T-shirts.
Her Olympic glow hasn't faded. If anything, it's intensified with this new chapter of our lives.
"I can't believe they went so overboard," she hisses into my ear, leaning into me as we watch our mothers directing the caterers to set up the dessert table. "I thought we were having a small get-together."
"My mom hasn't stopped talking about becoming a grandmother since you told her. She's been planning this for months."
Regan laughs. "Your dad's already bought the baby a miniature football helmet. I saw Frank hiding it in the garage."
"That's nothing. Wait until you see what Coach Winters sent. It arrived yesterday."
She lifts her eyebrows. "Coach Winters? From the Kentucky Devils?"
"The one and only. He sent a onesie that says 'Future Super Bowl MVP' on it. The man's got high hopes for our kid."
"He must be psychic, assuming it's a boy."
We share a secret smile, and I marvel at how natural this all feels. Just a year ago, I couldn't have imagined standing in my backyard with a pregnant Olympic champion, surrounded by our families, planning for a future I never dreamed I'd have.
"Mike! Regan! We need you over here for the big reveal!" My mom waves us over to the center of the yard where a massive box wrapped in blue and pink sits on the patio table.
"Ready for round two of this show?" I whisper to Regan.
She grins. "As ready as I'll ever be. Though I think everyone's going to be disappointed when they find out we already know."
"Nah. Don't worry about that."
We make our way through the crowd, receiving pats on the back and congratulations along the way. Bohdan stands near the back, his arms crossed over his chest. A soft smile plays at the corners of his mouth.
"The moment of truth!" Frank Hannigan announces, handing us a knife to cut the ribbon. "Mike, you do the honors."
I accept the knife and look at Regan, who nods encouragingly. The box is ridiculous. It must be six feet tall, and it's been decorated with sparkly question marks---as well as tiny footballs and figure skating boots. Our families really went crazy.
"Are you ready?" I ask, surveying our assembled guests.
"Absolutely. Let's do this."
Our guests go quiet with phones raised to capture the big moment. I cut the ribbon, and the box falls open with a dramatic flourish. Blue and pink confetti bursts out, and a cascade of blue balloons rises into the air, confirming what we already knew.
"It's a boy!" my mother and Patricia scream, clapping their hands.
The yard erupts in joyous cheers. John Banks raises his beer in a toast, while Patricia wipes tears from her eyes. I pull my wife close, kissing her temple as we watch our families celebrate.
"Did you know?" my dad asks.
Regan and I exchange glances, then burst out laughing. "We've known for awhile. The doctor told us at the twelve-week scan."
My mom's jaw drops. "And you didn't tell us? We've been planning this party for months!"
Regan shrugs. "We wanted it to be a surprise. Besides, you moms have been having so much fun with all the planning."
Cynthia Hannigan's indignation quickly melts into a smile. "Well, I suppose I can forgive you. A boy! I'm going to have a grandson!"
The celebration continues and the news ripples through our guests. I spot Coach Winters making his way toward us with a small, wrapped package in his hands.
"Congratulations," he says, handing the gift to Regan. "The Devils' organization is thrilled for you both."
Regan rips open the package to reveal a tiny Portland Bigfoots jersey with "Banks" printed across the back and the number 1. She says, holding it up for everyone to see "This is perfect. Our son's first jersey."
"Better get used to blue and gold," I joke, thinking of the Portland Bigfoots colors. "Though I might have to teach him a few of Devils cheers on the side."
Coach Ernie laughs. "The rivalry continues, eh?"
I grin. "Always."
The afternoon passes in a blur of congratulations, gifts, and way too much cake. Regan handles it all with her usual grace, though I notice her energy flagging as the party winds down. She's been tireless throughout her pregnancy, but today's excitement has clearly taken its toll.
I take Regan aside. "You ready to call it a night? Stifling a yawn means yes."
She leans against my shoulder. "I think I've hit my social limit."
After saying goodbye to everyone, we go home and crash out on the sofa to watch my old teammates thrashing the Devils on our big screen TV. We both have the game on, but I'm more focused on Regan, who's curled up against me with her head on my chest.
"You know," she says during a commercial break, "I was thinking about names today."
"Yeah?" I comb my fingers through her hair, enjoying the simple intimacy of this moment.
"I like Franklin for a middle name. After your dad."
I feel a faint lump form in my throat. "He'd love that."
"What about for a first name?"
"I've been considering options for awhile now. "What do you think about Alexander?"
"Hmm. Alexander Franklin Hannigan. I like it. Strong but not too flashy."
The game comes back on, but I pay little attention to it.
My mind is full of images---our son playing in this living room, learning to skate, maybe even following in his mother's footsteps on the ice.
Or maybe he'll take after me and find his way onto the football field.
Either way, I know he'll be a smart, kind, and strong boy.
"I can see it now," I tell her as I trace circles on her shoulder. "Alexander Franklin Banks, Olympic gold medalist and Super Bowl champion."
Regan bursts out laughing. "Let's not put too much pressure on him before he's even born."
The thought of our son growing up with our athletic legacies makes me both excited and slightly nervous. I want him to find his own path, his own passions, and not feel like he needs to live up to impossible standards.
I turn my attention fully to Regan. "I've been thinking about something."
"Do I get to hear your thoughts?"
"Absolutely." I hesitate, then dive in. "I've been talking to Ernie about the possibility of transitioning to a coaching role with the Bigfoots after next season."
Regan sits up straight, her eyes widening. "Really? You never mentioned that before."
I shrug. "It's only an idea. I'm not getting any younger, and I've been watching how Ernie handles things. I admire the way he sees the game and how he really understands the players."
"That's amazing, Mike. You would be an incredible coach."
"You think so?" I can't hold back my smile. "I've been watching game footage differently lately. Not just how I would play, but how I could help others play better."
"That makes perfect sense. You've always been the one giving advice to rookies, helping them adjust."
The game continues in the background, but neither of us is paying attention anymore.
I lay an arm around her shoulders. "You've been pretty quiet about what comes next for you after the baby."
"Well, I've been talking with Bohdan about that. He thinks I should consider coaching too, at least part-time."
"Really? You'd be amazing at that."
"Maybe. But I'm not ready to hang up my skates completely." She shifts position slightly, and I feel the baby kick against my hand where it rests on her belly. "Wow, he's active tonight."
"That's my boy," I say proudly. "Already showing his athletic potential."
"Seriously, though, I've been thinking about starting a training program for young skaters. Especially girls who might not have access to the kind of coaching I had. Bohdan's on board too. He claims he's getting too old to travel so much for competitions."
"Your own skating academy? That would be terrific."
"I plan to start small," she says, her eyes lighting up with the passion I've always loved about her. "Maybe in Portland or somewhere close by where we could both pursue our next chapters while raising Alexander."
"I love that idea. We could build something amazing together."
On screen, the Bigfoots score another touchdown, but I barely notice. All I can think about is this woman beside me---an Olympic champion, soon-to-be mother and the future we're building for our family.
"I never thought I'd be here," I admit. "Not just with you, but thinking about coaching and being a father. It's like I've found a whole new game to play."
Regan kisses my cheek. "And it'll be wonderful."
My life has changed so much, and I know even more amazing things will come our way through the years. And maybe even...a little girl.