Chapter Twenty-Three #2
“What? Our daughter is pregnant! Our son-in-law fainted! This is the best day ever!”
“It’s pretty great,” I agreed.
Julien looked at me, and despite everything, despite the embarrassment, despite his colleagues laughing at him, despite the chaos, he smiled.
A real smile. The kind that made his whole face soften.
“We’re having a baby,” he said quietly.
“We are.”
“I’m going to be a father.”
“You are.”
“I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Nobody does,” my mom said gently. “That’s the beautiful part.”
“The terrifying part,” Julien corrected.
“That too,” my dad agreed. “But you’ll figure it out. You’re smart, you’re capable, and you love Athena. That’s all you really need.”
“And a spreadsheet,” Hayden added.
“Hayden!” I said.
“What? I’m just being supportive!”
“You’re being a menace.”
“I can be both.”
Julien was still looking at me, his expression soft and vulnerable in a way I’d never seen before. “Are you happy?” he asked quietly.
“I’m ecstatic,” I said honestly. “Are you?”
He was quiet for a moment, and I could see him processing, organizing his thoughts the way he always did. “I’m terrified,” he said finally. “And overwhelmed. And completely unprepared.”
“But?” I prompted.
“But yes,” he said, his smile growing. “I’m happy. I’m really, really happy.”
“Good,” I said. “Because the universe has plans for us.”
“The universe,” he repeated, and there was something almost fond in his voice now. “Of course it does.”
“Big plans,” I said. “Cosmic plans.”
“Chaotic plans,” he said.
“The best kind.”
He reached over and took my hand, squeezing gently. “I love you,” he said.
“I love you too.”
“Even though I fainted?”
“Especially because you fainted.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It makes perfect sense. It means you care. It means this matters to you.”
“Of course it matters to me,” he said. “You matter to me. This baby matters to me.”
“See?” I said. “You’re going to be a great dad.”
“I’m going to be a neurotic dad,” he corrected.
“Also true,” Hayden said.
“But a great one,” Gabriel added.
“The greatest,” Winnie agreed.
Julien looked around at his colleagues, his friends, and something in his expression shifted again. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For... all of this.”
“For mocking you relentlessly?” Fitz asked.
“For being here,” Julien said. “For caring. Even if you show it by being terrible.”
“We’re not terrible,” Nathan protested. “We’re supportive.”
“You took pictures of me unconscious.”
“Supportive pictures,” Hayden said.
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is now.”
Julien shook his head, but he was smiling, and I realized, watching him, watching all of them, that this was what family looked like.
Not just blood relatives. Not just the people you were born to, but the people who showed up.
The people who laughed with you and at you and loved you anyway.
The people who caught you when you fell.
Literally, in Julien’s case.
“So,” Fitz said, breaking the moment. “We should probably discuss the new betting pool.”
“There’s a new betting pool?” I asked.
“There’s always a betting pool,” Quinton quickly added.
“What are you betting on this time?” Julien asked warily.
“How long before you create a spreadsheet for the baby,” Hayden said.
“I’m saying tonight,” Nathan said.
“I’m saying within the hour,” Fitz said.
“I’m saying he’s already started one mentally,” Quinton said.
When Julien said nothing, I smirked. “You’ve already started one, haven’t you?”
“Maybe…”
“Julien!”
“What? I need to organize my thoughts!”
“The baby isn’t even born yet!”
“Which means I have time to prepare properly!”
“Oh my Goddess,” I said, but I was laughing.
Everyone was laughing. Even Julien, after a moment, started laughing too.
And I thought: This is it. This is what the universe wanted.
Not perfection. Not control. Not careful planning and color-coded systems.
Just... this.
Love and chaos and laughter, and family. The beautiful, messy, unpredictable reality of life.
“Okay,” Morrison said, still grinning. “I think we should probably let the happy couple have some privacy.”
“But we’re having so much fun,” Hayden protested.
“Out,” I said.
“Fine, fine.” Hayden headed for the door. “But I’m checking back in an hour to see if he’s made that spreadsheet.”
“I’m not making a spreadsheet!” Julien called after him.
“Yes, you are!” Hayden called back.
One by one, his colleagues filed out, each of them offering congratulations, making jokes, and promising to check in later. My parents were the last to leave.
“We’re so happy for you both,” my mom said, kissing my forehead. “So, so happy.”
“Thank you, Mom.”
“Call us if you need anything,” my dad said. “Anything at all.”
“We will.”
They left, closing the door behind them, and suddenly it was just me and Julien.
Alone. In a hospital room. After finding out we were going to be parents.
“So,” I said.
“So,” he echoed.
“That was a lot.”
“That was everything.”
“Are you okay?”
He was quiet for a moment, then moved from his bed to mine, carefully settling beside me. “I’m terrified,” he said honestly. “I have no idea how to be a father. I don’t know how to take care of a baby. I don’t know how to—”
“Julien,” I interrupted gently. “Nobody knows how to do it until they do it.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s honest.”
He pulled me closer, and I rested my head on his shoulder. “I’m going to mess this up,” he said quietly.
“Probably,” I agreed. “We both will. That’s part of it.”
“That’s a terrible system.”
“That’s life.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I know.”
“I’m still going to make a spreadsheet.”
“I know that, too.”
He was quiet for a moment, then: “April.”
“April,” I confirmed.
“Eight months.”
“Give or take.”
“I can work with eight months.”
“I know you can.”
“I’m going to need to read every parenting book ever written.”
“Probably.”
“And take classes.”
“Definitely.”
“And baby-proof the apartment.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“And create a budget.”
“Also good.”
“And research pediatricians.”
“Julien?”
“Yes?”
“Breathe.”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay,” he said. “Breathing.”
“Good.”
“But I’m still making a spreadsheet.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
He kissed the top of my head, and I felt him smile against my hair. “We’re having a baby,” he said, and this time there was wonder in his voice.
“We are.”
“A tiny human.”
“Yes.”
“Who’s going to depend on us for everything.”
“That’s generally how babies work.”
“That’s terrifying.”
“That’s beautiful.”
“It’s both,” he said.
“It is,” I agreed.
We sat there in comfortable silence, his hand resting on my still-flat stomach, both of us processing the enormity of what had just happened.
“Athena?” he said finally.
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For this. For everything. For being chaos and making me surrender to it.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, smiling. “Though technically, you should thank the universe.”
“I’m not thanking the universe.”
“Why not?”
“Because the universe made me faint in front of my colleagues.”
“The universe has a sense of humor.”
“The universe is a menace.”
“The universe loves you.”
“The universe is testing me.”
“That too,” I admitted. “But you’re passing.”