Unlike my brother, I look forward to Sunday dinners all week because more than anyone else in Chicago, I feel like these people get me.
Zanders and Stevie are expecting, and Ryan and Indy are trying for their first. They’re always excited for Max to be at the house and I don’t feel like I’m bringing the party down because I have my fifteen-month-old with me the way I feel around my teammates sometimes.
“Hi, Maxie,” Ryan says as Indy rounds the kitchen island for her fiancé to say hello to my son as well.
They’ve been trying to conceive for a few months now with no luck, so I’m happy to give them all the time with Max they want. They regularly ask to babysit, and Indy is the only woman Max feels comfortable being left with.
Well, she was the only woman. Before Miller.
“Who do you guys play tonight?” Ryan turns back to the stovetop.
“Cincinnati.”
“No Isaiah?” Indy asks, bouncing Max around the kitchen.
“I’m fairly certain he’s still in whoever’s bed he landed in last night. Sunday mornings are typically a no go for him.”
And family breakfast is typically a no go for the Shays unless I have a Sunday night game. They’ve got some weird thing about breakfast that they like to keep it to themselves, but they made an exception today.
“Is your uncle a little playboy?” Indy asks my son, which gets him giggling. “Yes, he is. He’s a playboy, huh?”
“You talking about me, Ind?” I hear as the front door closes.
“No, Zee, not everything is about you.”
“Good luck convincing him of that,” Stevie says, hand on her belly.
“Hello, my beautiful, radiant best friend.” Indy hugs her future sister-in-law, all while holding my son on her hip.
“If by radiant you mean hungry and cranky all the time, yes, I’m so radiant.”
“The most radiant,” Zanders says with a kiss to the top of her curls.
After hellos are said, the girls take my son into the backyard to play in the fresh air while I hang back with Ryan and Zanders in the kitchen.
“How’s Max doing?” Ryan asks, pouring the three of us mugs of coffee.
“Good. He’s good. He’s been a champ this season with the travel and living in a hotel room part-time. He’s easy. I’m lucky.”
I drink down half my mug and hand it back to Ryan for a refill.
His brow arches, filling it up again. “We all love Max, but this is probably the only time you’re able to bitch about being a single parent. So, let’s hear it. Other than you clearly being exhausted.”
He hands my coffee back over.
“Please don’t ask me to complain to you of all people, when you and Indy are trying so hard to become parents.”
“Kai, we all have our shit. Just because we’re dealing with our own stuff, doesn’t mean I can’t hear about yours. Besides, we’re having fun trying.”
Hesitating, I eye them both. It seems weird to complain about the person you love more than you knew your heart was capable of loving. Max is the best thing to ever happen to me, but being a single parent is still the hardest job I’ve ever had.
“He pissed on me the other day,” I admit. “I’m talking all over me. Dripping down my shirt while I was trying to change him. I’m pretty sure it hit the ceiling, sprayed the walls.
“Jesus.” Zanders’ eyes go wide.
“Just you wait, Zee. You might want to rethink your wish for a boy.”
“You should rethink wishing for a boy,” Ryan cuts in. “No way in hell do we need another one of you running around.”
“Love you too, brother,” Zanders adds with a smile and a middle finger.
“At least he’s cute,” Ryan says, looking out the window as my son plays with his fiancée and sister. “Kind of makes up for the pissing in the air thing.”
“He’s cute as hell, but the kid’s got the worst taste in entertainment. His latest obsession is this show about a fruit salad dance party. Like a bunch of fruit and veggies have eyes and mouths but they don’t talk, they just dance to rave music. I swear to God whoever created that was dropping acid at the time. Whenever it’s on TV I feel like I’m in a fever dream.”
Zanders’ face scrunches in horror.
“I tried to turn it off and he screamed his head off until it was back on. The radishes were twerking.”
“How does a radish twerk?” Zanders asks, his mug to his lips.
“I don’t know, man. I don’t fucking know.” I shake my head. “And last week I had to track how many times he took a shit. I literally had to write it down. The first thing on my mind every morning was this kid’s shit because he hadn’t taken one in a couple of days.”