37. CALLUM
37
CALLUM
“Surprise!” George shouts, turning from the fridge with a six-pack of beer.
“This isn’t a surprise,” Liam debates George.
“No?” His voice goes high-pitched.
“You knew Cal and you were coming over for Boxing Day Premier League. We’ve done this for years.”
George tosses his hands in the air, beer resting on the counter. “I didn’t know there would be gifts. A surprise baby shower for me.”
“George, you asked for this,” I chime in.
“No,” he corrects me, “I said before you return to Chicago, would you mind getting a gift or two for Beatrix and the baby? Not me.” He taps his chest before picking up a beer he cracked open.
“Semantics.”
“You and your bloody semantics.”
“He’s right.” Liam looks away after siding with George.
“Ha!” George takes a drink of his beer. “Admit it. You two are throwing me a baby shower. There better be a game.”
“You are the only male I know that would want one of these,” I sigh. “What is Beatrix up to, anyway? Figured she’d come over with you.”
“Her and Emerson are painting the nursery after shopping.”
“You didn’t want to help?”
“Do you think Bea would let me help? I’d be sleeping on the street. The woman can barely take any cheeky thing from my mouth. I tried to pick up a paintbrush to help, and she slapped it away. ‘Don’t even think about it, Georgie. I can see it in your eyes. More paint is going to end up on me than the walls,’ ” he mimics Beatrix. “To be fair, she’s right.” He smiles, the same clown smile I’ve known since university. “She’s always right.”
Liam and I glance at each other at the same time. Glad he said it and not us.
“Can’t wait to christen the room, though. I’ve been thinking about it since she muttered themes and colors to me a couple of weeks ago.”
I drop my head to my hands.
Liam nods along as George swiftly tells us about the nursery's plans. The design, not the ones to try to put another baby in Bea while she’s already pregnant.
“Let’s open the gifts!” His grabby hands pluck one from the pile. “But in front of the telly, game is on.”
We move the small stack of gifts we got for him and his family to the living room. Liam darts back into the kitchen to grab our beers and his negroni.
George unwraps one present after the next. We sorted through what was left on their registry after Beatrix’s official baby shower that was in November. Emerson and Liam attended that and had already bought them a mountain of gifts. That baby will not be naked.
“This one is from Chloe.” I hand over the bag. Before I left for London, she put this in my bag and requested that it go to George.
They’ve only met once, and hit it off.
George and Beatrix visited over the summer, spending a long weekend with us. Liam and I surprised Emerson with them when we rented a boat to go out on Lake Michigan. They surprised Emerson with their pregnancy. Beatrix wasn’t far along at the time.
It took all of a matter of hours for them to be one and the same. Chloe would be the baby of George and Beatrix’s personalities.
“Do you know what it is?”
Shaking my head no, I give him a nervous smile. “Did Emerson tell you?” I ask Liam .
“Nah.”
George pulls out the white tissue paper and adds it to the recycling pile. “Heck yeah! Chloe understands.”
He turns around the shirt in his hands, revealing the saying on the other side. In hot pink letters across the chest is: WORLD’S SLUTTIEST DAD.
“Brilliant.” Liam is laughing behind the hand clamped to his mouth, shoulders and chest moving with the robustness. And I can’t help but smile. This is so Chloe, it’s perfect.
“Is that it?” I ask.
George pulls out a series of onesies that range in various funny dad sayings:
‘My daddy is a DILF (Dad I’ll love forever).’
‘I’m cute. Mum’s hot. Dad is lucky.’
He holds the tiny onesies in one hand, swiping the back of the other across his cheek.
“Are you crying?” Liam asks George with a hint of teasing in his tone.
“No,” George lies. “Allergies.”
“What are you allergic to? Emotions.” Liam asks.
“Being a dad,” he corrects. “These are tiny. And cute. And there’s going to be a human that fits in them. And holy shit, I’m going to be a dad. What if I can’t do it? I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Does anyone when they have a kid?”
“Yeah. Have you seen some of the amazing parents out there? I could never live up to that.”
“You can, George. You will,” Liam says.
“I had the worst example of parents.”
Liam cuts him off. “George, stop. Think about your aunt and uncle. Look how much they loved and raised you.”
“They did a grand job.” He nods in agreement, straightening himself. “I’m scared,” he admits.
“That’s okay,” I tell him .
“Mhm,” Liam adds in agreement. “Bea is probably scared, too. That’s a normal emotion. Becoming a parent is a change, and it’s new to you. What other emotions are you feeling?”
“Excited. Uh, proud—yeah, proud of Bea. She’s a champ. I’m blown away by what her body is doing, growing a tiny human. I didn’t think I could love her any more than I have my entire life, but seeing her like this. . .” He shuts his eyes, cheeks blushing as much as they can, and a smile on his face. “She’s beautiful.”
I take a sip of my beer. Proud is a resounding feeling I have toward him.
“We are proud of you,” I tell him.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Look at you, mate. Everything you just said, your reactions, it shows you will be the best dad. Don’t worry about the unknown. Bea will be by your side, and together you’ll figure it out.”
“And you’ve got us,” Liam says as the door opens.
“And me!” States says as she enters their flat. “You boys talk loud.” She squeezes George’s shoulder as she walks by him and plants a kiss on his cheek. Emerson sits in Liam’s lap. “You’ve got us,” she echoes Liam’s sentiment. “That little girl has the best parents and the best family.”
Liam pulls Emerson back into his chest, having a quick but public moment of affection. They are like this now. I wish I could say it’s disgusting, but I’m happy they are this happy together. She nuzzles her head into his neck. “I love you, States,” he whispers to her. “Missed you today.”
“I love you, too,” she whispers back.
“Does that mean you’ll do my bidding when she brings home a date? I hate being the bad cop,” George groans. “There’s not a bad bone in my body.” He tilts his head one way, then the other. “Well. . . except. . .”
“I think Bea has that covered for you,” I reassure him. “But yes, we will be at the table waiting to speak with him or her. ”
“Thank goodness.” George leans back on the couch. Clapping his hands together, he rubs them. “Now, let’s play that game.”
There is a chorus of groans from us before we appease him by playing a guessing game—Mom or Dad, who will do what?
Every answer is George.
He’s going to be the best and most obnoxious dad.