32. Brayden
brAYDEN
“What time are they going to get here?” I asked, glancing down at my watch before I started to stir the pasta.
The kitchen smelled like garlic, basil, and sheer panic.
Karla popped her head around the corner, holding a broom in her hand like a weapon. “Any minute.”
Her cheeks were flushed from power-cleaning the apartment. She’d already run the vacuum twice, reorganized her bookshelf, and threatened bodily harm to a dust bunny under the couch. It was cute as hell and also making me feel like I should be doing more than bullying noodles around in a pot.
I was starting to get nervous—full-on, game-seven shootout nervous. I was so excited to tell my sister about the baby, but I was worried she’d think we were rushing things. I mean, we didn’t plan for this to happen, but birth control is obviously not one hundred percent reliable.
Didn’t matter. I loved Karla. I already loved this kid. That part was simple. Explaining that to our loved ones without sounding like we’d lost our damn minds? Less simple.
The doorbell rang and my heart started pounding in my ears.
“Showtime,” Karla sang, dropping the broom against the wall and rushing to the door.
I took in a sharp breath and focused on the food like it was a pregame ritual.
Toss the noodles in pesto. Slice the baked chicken.
Try not to think about how this tiny apartment suddenly felt too small for the six people who were about to cram inside it—and way too small for the life Karla and I were building together.
All four of our guests piled into Karla’s miniature flat—Myla and Gavin, Martha and Kari—voices overlapping, coats shrugging off, the smell of perfume and cologne mixing with garlic and butter.
It felt… homey. Chaotic. Like a scene from a movie where people actually had their shit together emotionally.
“He even cooks?” I heard Gavin’s snarky tone tease from the living room.
“Careful,” I called back. “Don’t bite the hand of the chef who feeds you perfect passes all season.”
A ripple of amusement rolled in from the living room. It loosened something in my chest.
I set the food out on the small dining table—pasta, chicken, salad that Karla had insisted on “for balance.” The table itself was barely big enough, and one of the chairs wobbled like it was contemplating early retirement, but everything looked pretty damn good.
Karla floated around the room, introducing Martha and Kari to Gavin and Myla. Watching her play hostess in this place—the same apartment where she’d once cried into takeout boxes and fallen asleep on the couch after brutal shifts—made my throat tighten.
“It’s so nice to finally get to meet you, Myla. Karla has told us so much about you!”
Kari pulled my sister into a hug, and Myla’s face softened into that shy, grateful smile she used to wear as a kid when someone made her feel seen.
They all took their seats around the table—Myla next to me, Gavin beside her, Martha and Kari opposite Karla and me. The room felt crammed and perfect at the same time.
After grabbing everyone a beverage—wine for them, ginger ale for Karla, a beer for me—I took my place at the head of the table. Honestly, there wasn’t really a “head,” but somehow I’d claimed the spot closest to the kitchen and furthest from the drafty window.
“A toast.” I raised my pint glass into the air, the crystal catching the warm light from the crappy overhead fixture Karla kept saying she wanted to replace. “To new family.”
“Here, here.” Myla cheered, lifting her glass, smiling sweetly at me. “This is really nice. Thanks for having us over tonight.”
“Of course. I am so thrilled to have all of you together, finally.” Karla squeezed my hand under the table, then cleared her throat. I felt the vibration of her nerves through our joined fingers. “And we have some news to share with you.”
Every conversation at the table died instantly. Four sets of eyes turned to us. Karla looked over at me, waiting for me to spill the beans.
My throat was dry. My heart was racing. My palms were clammy. My face felt like it had been held under a heat lamp.
“We’re going to have a baby.” I shouted it out louder than I meant to, like I was calling a line change.
Silence.
You could hear a pin drop. Everyone’s jaws hung open. Myla’s fork hovered in midair like it had frozen.
“Someone say something,” Karla whimpered as her face twisted, fighting back tears, and my stomach clenched—if they didn’t react well, I was going to burn this entire evening to the ground and start over.
Martha shot to her feet so fast her chair skidded backward. “Holy fuck! I am going to be an aunt!”
The tension in my chest snapped and released.
“Is this real life?” Myla hooted, tears already forming as she looked between us like she was afraid we’d vanish.
Martha wrapped Karla up in a bear hug as I stood to pull Myla up into me. She felt small and shaking and so, so happy.
“It sure is real life. I’m going to be a dad.” The words came out rough, but they felt right. Heavy and warm and permanent.
My little sister sobbed happy tears into my chest. Gavin’s hand landed solidly on my back. “Congrats, brother. That is awesome news.”
There was something in his voice—genuine, unguarded—that made my old resentment loosen its grip just a little more.
“I was so scared you guys were going to think we were crazy,” Karla muttered into her napkin as she blew her nose.
I slid back into my seat beside her and leaned over to kiss her temple. She smelled like her favorite body wash and pesto and the faintest trace of hospital hand soap she hadn’t quite scrubbed off from her last shift.
“We are fucking crazy.” I laughed.
Myla chugged some of her wine like she needed the courage. “I couldn’t imagine any other way for you to be though.”
And she was right. There was nothing “normal” about us—the way Karla and I met, the timing, Myla’s accident, the mess with Karla’s ex. Our lives had been a series of left turns and collisions, but somehow all of it had led us to this cramped apartment and this table and this moment.
“So what do you want it to be, a boy or a girl?” Kari asked, twirling her fork in the pasta like she already had an office betting pool planned.
Karla’s face lit up. “Funny enough, we both hope it’s a girl.”
Myla’s head tilted. “Really?”
I shot her a look. “Why would I want a boy? Another dick in the family? I’m already enough to handle.”
“That’s for damn sure.” Myla pointed at me, still blinking away tears. “You better wait on this woman hand and foot.”
Karla put her hand on my shoulder, squeezing. “He already is.”
And she wasn’t wrong. I’d carry her up the stairs if I had to. Hell, I’d try to carry the whole city if it meant she and the baby were okay.
“How long have you known?” Martha asked, eyes bright with curiosity.
I bowed my head slightly. I didn’t want to admit I’d kept this from Myla. We’d always been brutally honest with each other—sometimes too honest.
“A few weeks,” I softly lamented.
Karla jumped in like the absolute MVP she was. “I made Brayden wait until we were out of the first trimester to say anything. He wanted to call Myla right when I showed him the damn pee stick.”
Everyone laughed, and my shame eased a little. I’d practically tried to live-stream the moment to my sister; Karla had been the sane one.
“So does this mean you’re moving out?” Myla’s voice got softer, a hint of sadness threading through it as she looked at me.
I shook my head. “We’ve been talking about Karla moving into our house. It’s better than her throwing money away on rent.”
The word our slipped out naturally. Our house.
Our baby. Our life. It punched me right in the chest. Because for years, our had only ever meant Myla and me.
And now I was asking to expand that—asking her to share that space with someone else…
and soon, a tiny someone who was going to change everything.
Gavin turned to Myla. “It’s not like you’re going to be living in that house much longer anyway.”
My heart stopped. The fork in my hand halted halfway between my plate and my mouth. “What?” I stared at him, and if looks could kill, Gavin’s head would’ve exploded on the spot.
He winced. Myla’s eyes went wide. “Gavin asked me to move in with him the morning after my birthday and I told him I would think about it.” She shot him a glare as his shoulders tensed.
“It was just a thought,” Gavin said quickly, backpedaling like he’d just missed an open net.
Part of me wanted to shout she’s twenty-one, are you insane? The other part of me—the part that had watched him take care of her, hold her hand through flashbacks, show up every time she needed him—knew I had to keep my mouth shut.
“Well, wherever you two live, just know I am going to be over all of the time, playing with your little bundle of joy.” Martha with the save. She said it lightly, but there was so much earnest love there that it grounded the whole table again.
Kari chimed in. “I really couldn’t be happier for both of you. You two are going to make terrific parents.”
Karla’s hand tightened around mine, and I realized my thumb was absentmindedly tracing circles over her knuckles. We were both hanging on to each other like life preservers in a sea of emotions.
Once the awkwardness about living arrangements dissipated—smoothed over with more food, more wine, and several rounds of “oh my God, what if your baby has Martha’s laugh” jokes—the evening settled into something calm and easy.
We talked about baby names and how to decorate the nursery. Myla suggested wild, hockey-themed ideas. Kari pulled Pinterest references out like she had them bookmarked. Martha threatened to buy the kid a drum kit “just because.” I filed that under over my dead body and smiled anyway.
Before we knew it, we were saying our goodbyes.
Myla’s slender arms wrapped around me as she held on for dear life. She smelled like wine and vanilla and a little bit like the floral shampoo she’d used since high school.
“I am so proud of you, big brother.” Her words were muffled against my chest.
“For what?” I asked, resting my chin on the top of her head like I used to when she was shorter and the world hadn’t tried to break her yet.
“For growing up so much in the last couple of years.” She sniffled, squeezing even tighter before letting go.
Her words hit harder than I expected. Growing up wasn’t something you noticed in real time. It was just a lot of messes and apologies and therapy and bone-deep exhaustion until someone pointed out you weren’t the same disaster you used to be.
“Congratulations again, man. It’s nice to see our little family growing.
” Gavin’s hand was outstretched. We shook, and I didn’t know if I wanted to punch him or hug him.
We’d come such a long way from wanting to kill each other in the locker room.
Sometimes I still couldn’t stand him—especially now that he wanted my baby sister to move in with him and eventually he’d be asking her to marry him—but I knew I needed to stay out of it for Myla’s sake.
“Thanks.” Short. Simple. Controlled. The best move I had in that moment.
As the door closed behind them and the apartment fell quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the clink of dishes as Karla started stacking plates, I stood there for a second, taking it all in.
Maybe Myla was right.
Maybe I was growing up.
And for the first time in my life, the idea didn’t scare the shit out of me.