Just here to yap! @blackirisesinthesunlight - Tumblr Blog

Jul 18

{Big Sister Business - Andrew Pope Cody x F!Reader}

Summary : Some secrets are too special to keep forever. As your little family shares some life-changing news, the reactions are exactly what you'd expect—messy, emotional, and full of love.

Word Count : 5400ish

Comment to be added to the taglist.

The shirt was too small to feel as important as it was. That was the first ridiculous thought you had when you took it out of the drawer. It was just a little toddler top, folded neatly between Andie's clean leggings and the yellow jumper she had recently decided belonged to Baby Duck instead of her. White cotton. Short sleeves. A tiny duck stitched near the hem. And across the front, in soft rounded letters:

Big Sister

You stood in front of the dresser with it in your hands and felt like the whole room had gone quiet. Which was stupid. The room had not gone quiet. Downstairs, Andie was loudly accusing Andrew of giving Baby Duck the wrong cup. Andrew, from the sound of it, was defending himself with more patience than any man should reasonably possess before ten in the morning.

"Baby cup," Andie insisted.

"That is Baby Duck's cup."

"No. Wrong."

"It's the blue one."

"Pink."

"Baby Duck has never had the pink cup."

"Pink."

"You have the pink cup."

"Baby pink."

There was a pause. Then Andrew, very evenly, said, "This household has too many cups."

You smiled down at the shirt, but it came out a little watery. Big Sister. Two words. Two sweet, simple words that your daughter would half understand at best. Andie was two years and four months old now, which meant she understood everything and nothing depending on the hour, the snack available, and whether Baby Duck had been consulted.

She understood baby. She understood Mama. She understood Dada. She understood mine, no, snack, now, and the emotional crime of being offered the wrong cup. She did not understand months. She barely understood after lunch. She definitely did not understand that there was someone growing quietly beneath your ribs, someone who had been there through breakfast negotiations and bedtime stories and Andrew's hand resting over your stomach in the dark.

You were thirteen weeks now. Just out of the first trimester. Close enough that the secret had started to feel too big for only two people to carry. For weeks, the baby had lived in the private places of the house. In the tissue-lined box in your bedside drawer, where Andrew had tucked the first positive test like it was something sacred instead of something plastic. In the grainy scan picture he looked at when he thought you were not watching. In the crackers on your bedside table. In the water bottles he left near every chair you used. In the way he opened windows before making coffee. In the way your body had slowly become something both familiar and strange.

The first scan had shown a flicker. The first heartbeat had broken Andrew open quietly in a small clinic room while his hand held yours so tightly you felt it for an hour afterward. After that, the pregnancy had felt different. Still fragile. Still secret. Still something you and Andrew had held close, maybe too close, because telling people made it feel like the baby belonged to the world a little bit.

But now, at thirteen weeks, you were tired of hiding every small thing. Tired of Andrew having to look away when his hand wanted to go to your stomach. Tired of pretending tea was a random preference and toast had personally offended you for no reason. Tired of Craig asking if you were still getting over the stomach bug and Deran calling you "weirdly delicate" with no idea how close he was to being emotionally destroyed.

It was time. Not for everyone. Not publicly. Not loudly. But for your family. Andie first. Then Craig and Deran. You pressed the shirt against your chest and took a slow breath.

From downstairs came Andie's voice again.

"Dada no."

Andrew said something too low to catch. Andie shouted, "Baby sad!" You closed your eyes. God help the new baby if Andie decided she was in charge. You heard footsteps on the stairs. Not Andie's. Andrew's were quieter. Slower. He appeared in the doorway a second later with Baby Duck tucked under one arm and a pink plastic cup in his hand. His eyes went to the shirt. Then to your face. He stopped.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Baby Duck stared blankly into the room, dragged into yet another emotional milestone without consent. Andrew's voice came out lower than usual.

"That it?"

You nodded.

"Yeah."

He stepped into the bedroom. His gaze dropped to the letters again. Big Sister. The words landed on him visibly. It was subtle, because Andrew was Andrew and his face did not give things away cheaply. But you saw it. His mouth softened. His shoulders changed. Something in his eyes went young and wrecked and careful all at once.

"She's still so little," he said.

Your throat tightened.

"I know."

He looked at the shirt like it had done something unfair.

"She was in a cot when I came home."

"She's in a little bed now."

"I know."

"She can climb out of it and shout legal demands at us."

His mouth twitched faintly.

"That's true."

"And she thinks Baby Duck has feelings about pasta."

"Baby Duck has a rich inner life."

"And she still says Deran bad."

"He often is."

You smiled, but he did not smile back fully. He reached out and touched the shirt with one finger. Just the edge of the tiny stitched duck.

"She's going to be somebody's big sister."

"Yes."

He swallowed. You watched him try to take that in. Not just the new baby. Not just the pregnancy. Andie changing too. Andie becoming something new before she could possibly understand the weight of it. You stepped closer and rested your hand against his chest.

"She's still your baby."

His eyes lifted to yours.

"I know."

"Do you?"

He looked toward the hallway, where Andie's voice was now shouting something about "Baby wet." Then he looked back at you.

"I'm working on it."

That made you smile, even as your eyes burned. Andrew looked down at the shirt again.

"Are we telling her now?"

"I think so."

His jaw shifted.

"You think she'll understand?"

"No."

A breath left him. Almost a laugh.

"No?"

"She is two."

"She's two and four months," he said, like those four months gave her a law degree.

You lifted an eyebrow.

"She licked the window yesterday."

He paused.

"Fair."

"She'll understand baby. Maybe. A little. And she'll understand that we're happy. And that she's included."

Andrew nodded slowly.

"That matters."

"Yes."

His hand tightened around yours.

"It matters that she knows first."

Your heart softened.

"I thought so too."

He brought your joined hands up and kissed your knuckles. Not dramatic. Not a speech. Just Andrew, saying yes without using the word. From downstairs came the unmistakable sound of something plastic hitting the floor. Then Andie's voice.

"Uh-oh."

Andrew closed his eyes. You laughed.

"She's ready."

"She sounds destructive."

"She's ready."

Andie was sitting on the living room rug when you came downstairs, Baby Duck flat on her back in front of her and soft duck tucked under one knee like a hostage. A pink cup lay on its side beside the coffee table. Thankfully empty. Mostly. Andie looked up when you and Andrew entered.

"Mama."

"Hi, baby."

She pointed at Baby Duck.

"Baby spill."

Andrew looked at the empty cup.

"Baby Duck knocked it over?"

Andie nodded solemnly.

"Baby bad."

"Baby Duck has had a difficult morning."

"Baby sorry."

"Is she?"

Andie picked up Baby Duck and pressed the doll's face to her own cheek.

"Sorry."

You sat down on the rug opposite her. A little slower than you used to. Not because you were huge. You were not. At thirteen weeks, your body was only beginning to hint at change in ways other people might miss if they were not Andrew. But you knew. Your jeans knew. Your lower back knew. Andrew definitely knew. His hand hovered behind your back for half a second before he stopped himself. You saw it. He saw you seeing it. His mouth flattened in the smallest guilty line. You hid a smile. Not yet. Soon, he could fuss openly. God help you.

Andrew sat beside you, one knee bent, forearm resting on it. He looked oddly serious for a man sitting on the floor across from a toddler wearing one sock and a shirt stained with whatever breakfast had become. Andie noticed immediately. Her eyes narrowed.

"Dada?"

Andrew softened his face.

"Yeah?"

"You sad?"

You almost melted into the carpet. Andrew looked caught.

"No, baby girl."

Andie studied him. Then shoved Baby Duck toward him.

"Baby kiss."

Andrew took the doll and kissed the top of its fabric head.

"There."

Andie accepted Baby Duck back. You glanced at Andrew. His throat moved. Right. This was going to ruin him. You had not even started. You reached for the shirt beside you.

"Andie, we have something to tell you."

Andie looked at the shirt.

"Clothes."

"Yes."

"No."

"You don't even know what clothes."

"No clothes."

Andrew's mouth twitched. You held the shirt up.

"This is a special shirt."

Andie stared at it.

"Duck."

"Yes, it has a duck."

"Mine?"

"Yes, baby. This one is yours."

That helped. Andie crawled closer on her knees, Baby Duck tucked under her arm.

"Duck shirt."

"It says Big Sister."

She blinked at you. Absolutely nothing. Andrew lowered his head. Not laughing. Trying not to. You kept your expression gentle.

"Do you know what a big sister is?"

Andie looked at Baby Duck. Then at you.

"Big?"

Andrew let out the smallest sound. You ignored him.

"Yes. Big."

Andie held up Baby Duck.

"Baby small."

"Yes. Baby Duck is small."

"Soft duck big."

"Soft duck is... medium."

Andie considered this. Then nodded.

"Medium."

Andrew covered his mouth. You shot him a warning look. He lowered his hand immediately, though his eyes were suspiciously bright already. You took a breath.

"There is a baby growing in Mama's tummy."

Andie froze. Then looked down at your stomach. For one second, the room went perfectly still. Your heart started beating too hard. Not because you expected her to understand. Because the words were out now. There is a baby growing in Mama's tummy. You had said it to your daughter. Andie leaned forward. Her curls fell into her face. She stared at your jumper. Then slowly looked up.

"Baby Duck?"

Andrew turned his face away. You bit your lip.

"No, sweetheart. Not Baby Duck."

Andie frowned.

"Baby?"

"A different baby."

Her frown deepened.

"Mama baby?"

"Yes," you said softly. "Mama and Dada's baby."

Andrew's hand found yours on the rug. His fingers slipped between yours. Andie looked at him.

"Dada baby?"

His face changed. It was tiny. So tiny. But it moved right through you. He nodded.

"Yeah, baby girl. Dada's baby too."

Andie looked between you, deeply suspicious. Then pointed at Baby Duck.

"Baby's baby?"

You laughed softly.

"No."

Andrew said, very seriously, "Baby Duck is not ready for that responsibility."

Andie ignored him. She crawled right up to you and placed both hands on your stomach. Too hard. Not painfully. Just toddler hard. Andrew shifted immediately.

"Gentle," he said.

His voice was soft, but something in it made Andie pause. He placed his hand over one of hers and showed her.

"Like this."

Andie looked at their hands. Then pressed again, lighter.

"Gentle."

"That's it."

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. Her palm was small and warm against you. Andrew's hand covered hers. Your baby inside, too small to know. Your first baby outside, too small to understand. And Andrew holding both moments together with one careful hand. Andie leaned close to your stomach.

"Baby?"

"Yes," you whispered.

"Baby sleep?"

Your eyes filled. Andrew stopped breathing. You nodded.

"Yeah. Baby is sleeping and growing."

Andie turned instantly to Andrew and lifted one finger to her lips.

"Shh, Dada."

Andrew's face broke. Not all the way. Not loudly. But enough. Enough that you saw his eyes shine. He nodded once, solemn as anything.

"Sorry."

Andie patted your stomach again.

"Baby sleep."

"Yes."

She grabbed Baby Duck and pressed the doll face-first against your jumper.

"Baby see."

You laughed, but it came out shaky.

"Baby Duck can say hello too."

Andie moved Baby Duck in a little bouncing motion against your stomach.

"Hi baby."

Andrew looked down. His fingers tightened around yours. You squeezed back. Andie looked suddenly concerned.

"Baby muffin?"

"Not yet."

"Baby pasta?"

"Not yet."

"Baby nana?"

"Maybe later," Andrew said.

You looked at him. He shrugged faintly.

"What? Eventually."

That made you laugh properly, and Andie grinned like she had done it on purpose. Then she tugged at the shirt.

"Duck shirt."

"Yes," you said, wiping carefully under one eye before she could notice. "Do you want to wear it?"

Andie nodded.

"Duck shirt."

Andrew stood first, then helped you up without making a production of it. Andie immediately lifted both arms. You pulled off the stained jumper and replaced it with the white shirt. Big Sister. The words stretched across her tiny chest. The duck sat near the hem. Andie looked down and patted it.

"Duck."

Andrew went still. You looked at him. He was staring at her. Not the way he had stared at the scan picture. Not the way he had stared at the positive test. This was different. Andie stood in the middle of the living room, wild curls, one sock, Baby Duck clutched to her chest, wearing a shirt she could not read and did not understand. And Andrew looked like the world had moved under his feet.

"You okay?" you asked quietly.

He nodded once. Too fast.

"She looks bigger."

Your throat tightened.

"She's still two."

"Two and four months," he murmured.

"She just asked if the baby wanted pasta."

"I know."

His eyes did not leave her. Andie noticed his attention and beamed.

"Dada see duck."

"I see it."

"Duck shirt."

"Yeah."

She patted the letters.

"Big."

Andrew's mouth trembled.

"Yeah, baby girl."

Andie spun once, mostly losing balance.

"Big Andie."

Oh. That did it. Andrew looked down at the floor. You stepped closer to him, shoulder brushing his arm. He breathed out through his nose.

"She said big."

"I know."

"She doesn't know."

"No."

His hand found yours again. You leaned into him.

"She will."

Andie, done with emotional devastation, dropped Baby Duck onto the rug and announced, "Snack."

Andrew let out a shaky laugh. You smiled.

"Big sister business is hungry work."

Andie nodded seriously.

"Snack now."

Andrew bent and picked her up. She settled on his hip easily, one hand patting his cheek.

"Dada snack."

He kissed the side of her head.

"Yeah. Dada snack."

You watched them go toward the kitchen. Big Sister stretched across her back. The secret was not only yours and Andrew's anymore. And somehow, instead of feeling less safe, it felt warmer.

You had planned dinner badly. Not the food. The food was fine. Simple enough that nobody would question why they had been invited, but nice enough that it did not look like you had ordered Craig and Deran over for leftovers and emotional ambush. Pasta. Salad. Garlic bread, which you had deeply regretted putting in the oven five minutes after it started smelling like garlic bread. Andrew had opened three windows without saying a word. Subtlety was not his strongest skill, but he was improving.

The bad planning was the shirt. You had put Andie in it after telling her because she wanted the "duck shirt," and then spent the next four hours trying to keep it clean until Craig and Deran arrived. This was like trying to keep the ocean dry. Andie had already dropped banana on it, wiped one hand across the duck, and tried to feed Baby Duck yogurt while holding the doll against her chest. By six, you were standing in the laundry room with a damp cloth, cleaning a tiny smear of sauce from the letter S while Andie wriggled and protested.

"No clean."

"It has to be clean."

"No."

"Craig and Deran need to see it."

"Cwaig?"

"Yes."

"Dewan?"

"Yes."

"Dewan bad."

"Sometimes."

Andrew appeared in the doorway.

"Deran's not bad."

Andie looked at him.

"Dewan loud."

Andrew considered this.

"That is true."

You dabbed gently at the shirt.

"There."

Andie looked down.

"Duck clean."

"Snack?"

"You just had a snack."

"More snack."

"No."

She stared at you with deep betrayal. Andrew said, "Dinner soon." Andie transferred the stare to him.

"Snack."

He looked at you.

"She's very persuasive."

"She is two."

"Two and four months," he said again.

You looked at him.

"Are you going to keep saying that like she's applying for university?"

"She's advanced."

"She put a pea in your shoe this morning."

"She problem-solves."

"She hides vegetables."

"Advanced."

The doorbell rang. Andie gasped.

"Cwaig!"

Then immediately, louder:

"Dewan!"

Andrew looked at you. Your stomach flipped. Not nausea. Nerves. Big, stupid, fluttery nerves. You had already told Andie. That had been the biggest part. Or it should have been. But Craig and Deran were different. Craig would understand too much and say too little. Deran would understand too late and say too much. Both of them mattered. Both of them had become part of the family in ways that were messy and impossible to untangle now. Andrew must have seen your face, because he stepped closer.

"You okay?"

You looked at him.

"You?"

"No."

That made you laugh. A little. He smiled faintly. Then Andie shouted, "Door!" The doorbell rang again. Deran's voice came muffled from outside.

"I know you're in there!"

Andrew closed his eyes. Craig said something you could not make out. Deran added, "Your toddler is yelling!" Andrew looked at you.

"Ready?"

"No."

He nodded.

"Me neither."

And then he went to open the door.

Deran came in first, because of course he did, carrying a bag of something that smelled like dessert and wearing the expression of a man who had not been briefed on anything and assumed this meant dinner.

"Where's my favourite tiny dictator?"

Andie shot past Andrew's legs.

"Dewan!"

Deran dropped the bag on the hall table and scooped her up.

"Hey, monster."

"No monster."

"Tiny boss."

Andie accepted that.

"Cwaig?"

Craig stepped in behind him with a smaller bag and a tired smile.

"Right here, bug."

Andie immediately leaned toward him. Deran looked offended.

"Wow."

"Cwaig muffin?"

Craig lifted the bag.

"I brought rolls."

Andie frowned.

"Not muffin."

"Sorry."

"Bad."

Deran laughed.

"She gets it from me."

Andrew took the dessert bag from the table.

"No, she doesn't."

Craig hugged you carefully, like he always did. Not because he knew anything. Because Craig was a gentle hugger when it came to you. Maybe because of Andie. Maybe because of Andrew. Maybe because he understood the fragility of houses that had once had to become safe again.

"You feeling better?" he asked.

"Mostly."

The stomach bug excuse still lived in the walls. Useful, even now. Deran leaned around Andie.

"You still broken?"

Andrew looked at him. Deran raised one hand.

"I mean that with care."

"You don't," Craig said.

"I do in my own way."

"I'm okay," you said, smiling.

"Good," Deran said. "Because if this dinner is a trap to make me assemble toddler furniture again, I'm leaving."

Andrew's mouth twitched.

"It's not."

"You say that like a man with hidden screws."

Craig looked at Andrew. Andrew looked normal. Mostly. You had to give him credit. He was not hovering. Not visibly. Not standing directly between you and everyone else like a human privacy wall. His hand only brushed your back once as he passed. Deran did not notice. Craig might have, but Craig noticed everything and filed most of it away without being annoying.

Andie wriggled in Deran's arms.

"Down."

He set her down.

And there it was. Big Sister. Right there across her chest. Obvious. Clear. Very readable. Deran did not notice. Not even slightly. He stepped around her toward the kitchen.

"What smells good?"

You stared after him. Andrew's face went completely blank. Craig looked at the back of Deran's head like he had personally embarrassed the concept of observation. Andie toddled after him, Baby Duck tucked under one arm, her shirt fully visible. Craig's gaze dropped. He froze. Not dramatically. Just stopped. His eyes moved over the words. Big Sister. Then again. Then slowly, very slowly, he looked at you. The world narrowed. You felt Andrew still beside you. Craig's face changed before he said anything. It went soft first. Then startled. Then something quiet and emotional moved across it so quickly he almost managed to hide it. Almost. His lips parted. No sound came out.

Deran, already in the kitchen, shouted, "Are we eating soon or is this one of those socialising first situations?"

Craig did not answer. Andrew's hand found yours behind your back. Craig looked at the two of you. His voice came out careful.

"Is that..."

Deran appeared in the kitchen doorway with a piece of garlic bread already in his hand.

"Is that what?"

No one answered. Deran looked at Craig. Then at you. Then at Andrew. Then finally, finally, down at Andie. Andie was standing in the middle of the hall, picking at the little duck stitched near the hem of her shirt. Deran squinted.

"Big sister."

Silence. He chewed once. Stopped. Looked up.

"Wait."

Craig let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh and almost like something else. Deran pointed at Andie's shirt with the garlic bread.

"Wait."

Andrew said nothing. His hand tightened around yours. Deran looked at you. Then at Andrew. Then at your stomach. Then immediately back to your face like he realised that had been too obvious.

"Big sister as in..."

Andie patted the letters on her shirt.

"Big."

Deran stared. Craig whispered, "Oh my god." Your eyes filled before you could stop them. Andrew's voice, when it came, was quiet.

"Yeah."

One word. That was all. Yeah. Craig covered his mouth. Deran did not move. You had never seen Deran still for that long. It was deeply unsettling. Then he said, "You're having another baby?"

Andrew's jaw shifted.

"Yes."

Deran pointed again, this time with less garlic bread confidence.

"Like... on purpose?"

"Deran," Craig said immediately.

"No, I mean—" Deran's eyes went wide. "Not like that. I mean good on purpose. Happy on purpose. I meant—"

You started laughing. You could not help it. The tears were already there and Deran looked so horrified by himself that the laugh slipped right through. Andrew's mouth twitched. Craig dropped his hand from his mouth.

"You are terrible at this."

"I panicked," Deran said.

"You asked if their baby was intentional."

"I said happy on purpose."

"That is not better."

Andie looked between them.

"Dewan bad?"

Andrew said, "A little."

Deran pointed at him.

"Don't start with me."

But his voice had gone rough. Very rough. He looked back at Andie's shirt, and the rest of his face finally caught up.

"Oh," he said.

Just that. Oh. Craig moved first. He stepped toward you and then stopped, eyes flicking down to your stomach for half a second before returning to your face.

"Can I?"

You nodded, already crying properly now. Craig hugged you so carefully it made the tears worse.

"Congratulations," he said quietly.

"Thank you."

His voice went softer.

"You okay?"

You nodded against his shoulder.

"Yeah."

"Really?"

You laughed wetly.

"Mostly."

"Good."

When he pulled back, his eyes were wet too. Not spilling. But close. He looked at Andrew. The two of them stood there for a moment, saying nothing. Then Craig stepped forward and hugged him. Andrew let him. Not stiffly. Not tolerating it. He actually let him. His chin dipped once, his eyes closing for half a second over Craig's shoulder. Craig patted his back once. Hard enough to be a manly gesture. Gentle enough to say everything else.

"Happy for you," Craig murmured.

Andrew's throat moved.

"Thanks."

Deran was still standing in the kitchen doorway holding garlic bread like it had personally betrayed him. You looked at him. His eyes were suspiciously shiny.

"Oh no," you said softly.

Deran pointed at you.

"No."

You smiled.

"Deran."

"No."

Craig turned.

"Oh, he's crying."

"I'm not," Deran snapped.

Andie immediately toddled up to him and stared at his face.

"Dewan sad?"

Deran looked down.

"No."

Andie frowned.

"Dewan cry."

"I'm not crying."

She reached up and patted his leg.

"Sad."

Andrew, dry as anything, said, "She's very observant."

Deran glared at him.

"I hate all of you."

Craig wiped the corner of one eye with his thumb.

"You're holding garlic bread and crying about a baby announcement."

"I'm not crying."

"You are shiny."

"I'm emotional because I'm hungry."

"That's worse."

Andie lifted both arms.

"Up."

Deran stared down at her. Then bent and picked her up with one arm, the garlic bread still clutched in the other hand. She patted his cheek.

"Dewan sad."

His face twisted.

"Stop saying that."

"Baby sleep," she told him very seriously.

Deran blinked.

"What?"

Andie pointed at your stomach.

"Mama baby sleep."

Craig went still all over again. Deran turned slowly toward you. Andrew's hand came to your back. There it was. The toddler explanation. Imperfect. Tiny. Absolutely devastating.

"Yeah," you said softly. "Baby is sleeping and growing."

Deran looked from you to Andrew. Something in his face cracked open. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just enough to show the soft, aching part he covered with noise most of the time.

"Jesus," he said, but it came out almost gentle.

Craig gave him a look.

"What?"

"Can you not swear at the baby?"

"The baby can't hear me."

Andrew said, "We don't know that."

Deran's face shifted immediately.

"Oh god. Can it?"

You laughed.

"No. Not like that."

Deran looked down at Andie.

"Do not repeat that."

Andie smiled.

"Dewan bad."

"Yeah," Craig said. "That one's sticking."

Deran sighed. Then looked at you again.

"You're really—"

"Yes."

"And everything's okay?"

His voice went quieter on that. There. That was the part underneath. The fear. The care. The reason his jokes came out crooked. Andrew answered this time.

"We had a scan. Everything looked good."

Craig's face softened again. Deran's mouth opened.

"You already saw it?"

"The baby," you said softly.

Deran blinked fast.

"You saw the baby."

Andrew nodded.

"And heard the heartbeat."

Craig inhaled sharply. Deran looked at Andrew. You watched the moment land. For Deran, maybe, it was not only the baby. It was Andrew being there for that. Andrew getting to have the part he had missed before. Deran's eyes filled again. He looked away immediately.

"Fuck," he muttered.

"Deran," Craig said.

"I know, I know, the baby might be listening."

Andie gasped.

"Bad word."

Deran looked horrified.

"No. Don't say that."

"Bad word," Andie repeated, delighted.

Andrew closed his eyes. You covered your mouth. Craig pointed at Deran.

"You did that."

"I know."

Andie patted Deran's cheek.

"Dewan bad word."

"Okay, tiny judge."

"No."

"No?"

"Big."

Deran looked confused.

"What?"

Andie patted her shirt.

"Big Andie."

Oh. The room softened. All of it. Craig's face. Deran's. Andrew's hand against your back. Andie had no idea what she had just done. She only knew the word because you had said it all day. Big sister. Big Andie. Big. But Andrew went very still beside you. Deran looked down at her shirt again.

"Yeah," he said, voice rough. "Big Andie."

Craig cleared his throat.

"Still tiny, though."

Andie frowned.

"No tiny."

"You're a little tiny."

"No."

"Medium?"

She considered.

"Medium."

Andrew laughed softly. The sound loosened something in the room. Dinner happened after that. Eventually. Messily. Not before Deran hugged you so awkwardly that you had to tell him he was allowed to use both arms. He did, but carefully, like pregnancy had turned you into a glass ornament.

"Congratulations," he said into your shoulder, voice low enough that nobody else would have heard if they were not all standing in the same room pretending not to listen.

"Thank you."

"You good?"

"Yeah."

"Pope good?"

You glanced at Andrew, who was lifting Andie into her chair while Craig moved plates to the table.

"He's Andrew good."

Deran nodded like that made perfect sense.

"Right."

"He cried at the scan."

Deran looked at Andrew. His face softened immediately. Then he said, "I'm gonna make fun of him later."

"Please don't."

"I won't."

A pause.

"Maybe a little."

"Deran."

"Fine. I won't."

He pulled back and wiped his face with one hand in a way he probably thought was subtle. It was not.

Dinner was exactly what you should have expected. Chaotic. Too loud. Too emotional under the noise. Deran kept looking at Andie's shirt like it might change. Craig kept looking at you like he was checking you were still there. Andrew kept pretending not to watch everyone react to the existence of his children. His children. Plural. You saw the word land in him more than once during dinner.

When Andie leaned across her tray and said, "Baby pasta?" while pointing at your stomach, Andrew froze with his fork halfway to his mouth.

Deran said, "Can it have pasta yet?"

"No," Craig and Andrew said at the same time.

Andie frowned.

"Baby hungry."

"The baby gets what Mama eats," you said.

Andie looked suspiciously at your plate.

"Mama eat."

"I am eating."

She pointed at your garlic bread.

"That."

Your stomach objected to the idea immediately. Andrew reached for it before you had to say anything.

"Mama's having pasta."

Andie narrowed her eyes. Craig changed the subject like a professional.

"Baby Duck having pasta?"

Andie gasped.

"Baby pasta."

Deran looked at Craig.

"That was smooth."

Craig shrugged.

"I have skills."

"You have fear."

"Also that."

At one point, Deran leaned back in his chair and asked, "So what am I supposed to be?"

You looked at him.

"What?"

"To the baby."

Andrew gave him a blank look.

"Deran."

"No, I know that."

Craig sighed.

"You are asking what your title is?"

"Yeah."

"You don't need a title."

"I absolutely need a title."

"You are Deran."

"That's not a title."

Andie shouted, "Dewan!"

Deran pointed at her.

"See? She gets it."

Andrew said, "She calls Craig Cwaig."

"That's different."

"How?"

"It just is."

Craig looked at you.

"Ignore him."

Deran turned to Andie.

"What am I to the baby?"

Andie looked at him. Then at Baby Duck. Then at your stomach.

"Loud."

Craig choked. Andrew looked down at his plate. You laughed so hard your eyes watered. Deran stared at her.

"That's not a title."

Andie nodded, very pleased.

"Dewan loud."

Craig wiped his mouth with a napkin.

"She's not wrong."

Deran pointed at him.

"You're enjoying this too much."

"Yes."

Andrew's mouth curved. The whole dinner felt like that. Soft chaos. Big sister shirt smeared faintly with pasta sauce by the end. Craig taking dishes without being asked. Deran trying to pretend he was not watching your stomach every time Andie said baby. Andrew's hand finding your knee under the table once, thumb brushing there and staying for three quiet seconds before Andie demanded water and the house lurched back into movement.

After dinner, Craig helped you clear while Andrew took Andie to wash her hands. Deran trailed after them, claiming he was supervising and immediately being ordered to sit on the bottom stair. Craig rinsed plates beside you. For a while, he said nothing.

Then, quietly, "How far?"

"Thirteen weeks."

His eyebrows lifted.

"You kept it quiet."

"We wanted to wait."

"Yeah." He nodded. "Makes sense."

You looked at him.

"You're not hurt?"

He turned the tap off.

"No."

"You can be."

"I'm not."

"Craig."

He leaned back against the counter, drying his hands on a towel.

"I would've been there if you needed me."

"I know."

"You didn't need me to know yet."

Your throat tightened. He smiled faintly.

"That's different."

You nodded. He looked toward the hallway, where Deran was saying, "I am sitting," and Andie was replying, "No, sit." Craig's expression softened.

"I'm really happy for you."

"Thank you."

"For both of you." He hesitated. "For him."

You looked down at the dish in your hand.

"He got to hear the heartbeat."

Craig was quiet. When you looked back up, his eyes were wet.

"Yeah?"

You nodded.

"At the scan."

Craig swallowed.

"Good."

One word. But it carried too much. Good that the baby was okay. Good that Andrew was there. Good that this time, the beginning had room for him. You nodded again.

"Yeah."

Craig squeezed your shoulder once and went back to drying dishes before either of you had to cry in the kitchen. A mercy. In the hallway, Deran shouted, "Why am I still sitting?" Andie shouted, "Dewan loud." Craig smiled.

"You sure you want another one?"

You laughed.

"Too late now."

By the time Craig and Deran left, Andie was overtired and drunk on attention. She had made Deran read half a book upside down. She had made Craig tuck Baby Duck into a napkin "bed." She had spilled water down her big sister shirt and screamed when you suggested changing it.

"No. Duck shirt."

"It's wet."

"Duck shirt."

"You can wear it tomorrow."

"Now."

Andrew, traitor and soft-hearted disaster, immediately said, "She can wear it to bed."

You looked at him. He looked back with the face of a man who knew exactly what he had done and regretted none of it.

"She'll be cold."

"We can put a long-sleeve underneath."

"You're enabling her."

"She's a big sister."

Andie beamed.

"Big."

Deran, standing by the door with his jacket half on, made a wounded noise.

"She said it again."

Craig patted his shoulder.

"You'll survive."

"No, I won't."

Andie reached for him.

"Dewan hug."

Deran melted so fast it was embarrassing. He bent and hugged her carefully.

"Bye, tiny—" He stopped when she glared. "Medium boss."

Andie patted his cheek.

"No cry."

"I am not crying."

"Dewan cry."

Craig opened the door.

"Come on, Dewan Cry."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

Deran looked at you and Andrew one more time. The teasing dropped for a second.

"Congrats," he said again.

Andrew nodded.

"Thanks."

Deran's eyes flicked to Andie's shirt. Then to your stomach. Then away.

"Happy on purpose," he muttered.

You laughed.

"Yes. Happy on purpose."

He nodded like that settled something. Then he left before he could accidentally develop more feelings in public. Craig lingered half a second longer.

"Call if you need anything."

"We will."

"You won't."

Andrew said, "Probably not."

"At least you're honest."

Craig hugged you one more time, then Andrew, then pressed a kiss to Andie's hair.

"Night, bug."

Andie waved Baby Duck's arm.

"Night Cwaig."

When the door closed, the house seemed to exhale. Andrew locked it. Then leaned against it for one second. You stood in the hall with Andie on your hip, her head heavy against your shoulder, Big Sister damp and wrinkled and still somehow perfect.

"You okay?" you asked him.

Andrew looked at you. Then at Andie. Then down at your stomach.

"No."

You smiled.

"Good no?"

"All of it."

"Yeah."

Andie yawned against your neck.

"Bed."

"A miracle," you whispered.

Andrew pushed off the door.

"I'll take her."

"I've got her."

"You've had her."

"She weighs nothing."

"She weighs toddler."

You gave him a look. He gave you one back. Andie lifted her head and pointed at Andrew.

"Dada carry."

You smiled.

"Traitor."

Andrew took her carefully, one arm under her bottom, the other around her back. Andie immediately tucked her face into his neck.

"Duck shirt," she mumbled.

"You can wear the duck shirt to bed," he said.

You followed them upstairs, carrying Baby Duck and soft duck, both of whom had apparently survived the announcement with minimal trauma. In Andie's room, you changed her into pyjama bottoms and put a long-sleeve top under the big sister shirt because Andrew had already made promises you were not going to fight this late at night. Andie was half-asleep by the time you got her into the little bed. Baby Duck under one arm. Soft duck tucked near her cheek. Big Sister stretched across her sleepy little chest.

You and Andrew sat on either side of the bed, just like always. The room smelled like toddler shampoo and clean cotton. The nightlight glowed against the wall. Andie blinked slowly at you.

"Mama baby," she whispered.

Your throat tightened.

"Yes."

"Baby sleep?"

"Yes, baby is sleeping."

Andie lifted one finger weakly to her lips.

"Shh."

Andrew bowed his head. You bit your lip.

"Shh," you whispered.

Andie turned her sleepy gaze toward Andrew.

"Dada shh."

Andrew nodded, eyes wet again.

"Dada shh."

She seemed satisfied. Her hand patted Baby Duck.

"Andie big."

Andrew went completely still. You looked at him over the bed. His face was turned down, but you saw the way his mouth pressed together. The way his eyes closed. The way he swallowed. You reached across the mattress and touched his hand. Andie sighed. Within a minute, she was asleep. Or close enough that both of you stayed frozen for another three, just in case.

When you finally stood, Andrew tucked the blanket over her feet. Only her feet. She would kick off anything higher. His fingers paused at the hem of the shirt. Big Sister. He touched the letters once. Then pulled his hand back. The two of you backed out of the room. The door stayed open a crack. Toddler bed rules. In the hallway, Andrew did not move. He stood there, looking into the dim little room. You stepped beside him.

"You okay?"

He shook his head faintly.

"She knows."

Your heart softened.

"Yeah."

"Not really."

"No. Not really."

"But she knows."

"In her way."

He nodded. The hall was quiet. Downstairs, there were dishes still in the sink. Sauce on the table. Craig's forgotten napkin bed for Baby Duck on the coffee table. The leftovers of a dinner that had split your life into before they knew and after. Andrew's voice was almost too quiet.

"She gets to know from the beginning."

There it was. The thing under all of it. You leaned into his side.

"Yes."

His hand found your stomach. Not hidden now. Not in the hallway of an empty house. Not in the dark, between only the two of you. He put his hand there while Andie slept behind the door and Craig and Deran drove away knowing there was another baby coming. The secret had changed. It was not smaller. Not less yours. Just held by more hands. You covered his hand with yours.

"She gets to know from the beginning," you said. "And you get to be here for it."

His breath shook.

"Yeah."

You stood there together for a long time. Long enough that the house settled. Long enough that Andie shifted once in her sleep and both of you froze automatically. Long enough that Andrew's thumb moved once over your stomach, slow and careful. Eventually, you whispered, "We should clean up."

Andrew did not move.

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"You're leaving dishes?"

"Yes."

"Who are you?"

He looked at you. His eyes were still wet, but his mouth curved faintly.

"Big sister business wore me out."

You laughed softly. He leaned down and kissed you. Gentle. Private. Full of everything the day had given away and everything it had made larger. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. Down the hall, Andie slept in her big sister shirt with Baby Duck under one arm and no real idea what had changed. Craig knew now. Deran knew loudly, badly, and with suspiciously wet eyes. Andie knew in the only way she could. Baby sleep. Shh, Dada. Mama baby. The secret had left the bedroom and stepped into the house. And somehow, instead of feeling less safe, the baby felt more loved.

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