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It’s not a big thing. Well, it is. It’s a huge, life changing thing, actually. But it’s not a bad thing. At least he hopes it’s not a bad thing. It’s definitely not a bad thing for him or for them. But it’s still, you know, a thing.
“You’re doing that thing,” Dylan comments, munching on a mouthful of cheerios.
Ryan looks up at him, “What thing?”
“The thing,” Dylan supplies, “the one where you act all twitchy, like you read a parenting book last night and now you’re just dying to practice.”
Ryan blushes, he had actually done some reading last night, but on the internet, because he wasn’t nearly as old as Dylan seemed to think he was.
“I am not,” he says in his most petulant, not actually a boring and fully grown adult voice, even though he is in fact a boring, fully grown adult trying to figure out how to talk to his teenager.
Oh God, he’s become his parents.
Dylan rolls his eyes, “Sure. But, like, how long is this going to take? Because I’ve got school.”
“It’s Saturday,” Taylor points out, leaning her elbows on the counter and grinning, “So really, we have all the time in the world to be your annoying and embarrassing parents.”
Dylan crosses his arms, but Ryan catches him fighting a smile of his own. He waves a hand at them, “Fine, continue.”
Ryan bites his lip, “We did actually want to talk to you about something.”
“Nooo? Really?” his son teases, “I couldn’t tell.”
“Yeah,” Ryan coughs, “so… here’s the thing. The thing is…”
He’s rescued, as he so often is, by his wife, who grabs his arm and cuts him off, “What your dad’s apparently too chicken to say is … I’m pregnant.”
Dylan blinks, “Oh,” he says.
Which is fair.
Ryan vaguely remember saying something along the lines of, “Oh my god,” when he first heard about the vague concept of Sophie.
“Um,” Dylan continues, “well, that’s, you know, great. Congratulations,” and he gives them that little grin, standing up and coming around the island to give Taylor a hug and Ryan feels himself relax. See? he thinks to himself, it was going to be fine.
There’s a pause and then Dylan pulls back and says, “So … I really do have homework, so, can I?” gesturing vaguely over his shoulder in what Ryan can only assume is meant to be the direction of his room. Dylan doesn’t look upset necessarily, he’s even still smiling, but there’s something there, an uncertainty Ryan thought he’d lost over the course of this past year.
***
He taps lightly on the frame of Dylan’s door, “Dyl?”
It’s open a crack, just enough for Ryan to make out the kid, splayed out face first on his bed.
There’s no answer. “Hey, can I come in?” Ryan tries, but he still gets nothing in response, “Okay, you’ve got ten seconds to say ‘no’ before you forfeit the right to privacy and I come in anyway,” he warns and despite the worry pulsing under his skin, he does count dutifully to ten before pushing the door open enough to slip through.
“Hey,” he murmurs, crouching down by the side of the bed, feeling his knees crack uncomfortably, he really is getting old. He sighs, reaching out to run his finger through Dylan’s curls, “talk to me.”
Dylan twists his head to the side, “Don’t do that, Ryan,” there’s a bite to his tone, an emphasis on Ryan’s name that isn’t usually there, like Dylan’s trying to make some kind of point. The “Dad” thing comes and goes, but still.
Ryan blinks, confused, “What are you talking about?”
“You don’t have to pretend anymore, okay? I get it. I was the practice kid, and you guys are going to go and have your real kids now, start your real family. It’s okay.”
“Whoa,” Ryan falters, of all the reactions he’d been expecting, good and bad, this one had never even occurred to him, “That is so unbelievably not true.”
Dylan rolls his eyes, “Whatever.”
“No,” Ryan says firmly, “not whatever. If you actually feel like that, it is very much not whatever.”
He watches a war of emotions being waged across Dylan’s face, hurt and anger, fear and relief. After a minute he bites his lip, “I don’t,” he pauses, “Just … you’re not going to forget about me, are you?” he asks.
Ryan shakes his head, “No,” he says firmly, catching Dylan’s chin so he can look him right in the eye, “Hey, you were here first, okay?”
Dylan bites down hard on his lip, “Yeah.”
***
“It was different for me, you know? I already knew what it was like to share our parents,” he tells Seth.
His brother preens, “I do require quite a bit of attention.”
Ryan rolls his eyes, “You know what I mean.”
“I don’t actually,” Seth admits, “So Dylan’s used to being an only child. So what? He’ll get over it.”
“That’s not …” Ryan starts, stops himself, “It’s not just about him being an only child. It’s about the … the real thing.”
Seth frowns, “The what?”
“The bio vs adopted thing.” Ryan clarifies, “Dylan worried he’s not our ‘real’ kid.”
Seth pokes at his shoulder, “You feel pretty real to me,” he points out, “And Dylan certainly looks real. That’s not actually a thing, is it?”
Ryan scoffs, “Of course it’s a thing.”
Seth face does something complicated, “For you too?”
“No, that’s…” Ryan shakes his head, maybe a little too defensive, “that’s not what I’m saying," he sticks out his chin, "This isn’t about me.”
“Uh huh,” Seth pokes at him again, anyway, “You are real though, Ryan.”
Ryan rolls his eyes. “I know that.”
***
“I’m late,” Dylan says, dumping what’s left of his cereal into the sink and careening down the hall towards the front door. Ryan, coming down said hall, barely manages to jump out of the way in time, widening his eyes at Taylor.
“Backpack!” his wife yells after their son.
“Shit,” Dylan exclaims, turning on his heel, and Ryan, still not quite to the kitchen, quickly steps out of the way again, shaking his head as Dylan bolts back by to snag his bag off its hook on the wall.
“Language,” Taylor scolds good naturally, more for the sake of appearances than anything else, Ryan thinks.
“Sorry, Mom,” Dylan shouts over his shoulder, Ryan’s eyes following him down the hall.
He hears Taylor sigh, “Love you,” she calls.
A pause, and then, “Yeah, yeah, love you too,” right before Dylan slams the door behind him.
When Ryan turns back around Taylor’s got a hand over her stomach, thumb stroking over the small, rounded bump, and he walks over, stands behind her, waits for her to lean back, so he can slot his own hands around her belly.
“Two of them,” she whispers, “What in the world were we thinking?”
Ryan chuckles, “We’re going to be fine.”
***
“What about Grace?” Taylor asks, sweeping a pile of pink confetti off the counter and into her cupped hand.
Ryan hums, holding out the trash bag he’s been using to collect paper plates and cups, but Taylor shakes her head, dumping it into one of their mini-tupperwares instead.
“Madison?” he suggests, putting down the bag and adding his own handful of confetti. He supposes she’s right; they’ll want it someday.
“I like Abigail,” comes Dylan’s muffled voice from the living room, “We could call her Abby.”
Ryan blinks, meets Taylor’s eyes over the counter, they’re brimming with tears, and she beams at him.
“Yeah,” he says slowly, loud enough for Dylan to hear, “I like Abigail too.”
His eyes fall then on the framed ultrasound picture someone had left lying around. Someday, he thinks, he’ll get to tell his daughter how her brother picked her name.
***
“This is your fault, you know,” Taylor tells him, panting.
Ryan grins, pressing a kiss to her sweaty forehead, “Yeah, I know,”
“I could sue you. Sandy would take the case, you know he wou-ahh,” she’s cut off by another contraction, her grip on his hand tightens, and Ryan winces sympathetically.
When it passes, Ryan nods solemnly, “He would,” he agrees, “For you? In a second.”
***
“Whoa,” Dylan says when Ryan shifts his sister gently into his arms for the first time.
Ryan laughs, “I know, right?”
“She’s so tiny,” Dylan whispers, glancing up at him, “Is she supposed to be this tiny?”
“Yeah,” Ryan promises, “Although, maybe don’t mention how tiny she is around your mom. I’m not quite sure she’d agree.”
Dylan makes a face, looking back down at his sister, “Gross.”
Ryan smirks, “Don’t say that either.”
Dylan nods once, eyes locked on the baby, “Right, okay,” he agrees easily, and, “You know what’s weird?”
“What?”
“I’m happy.”
Ryan nods slowly, “Oh, kid,” he squeezes Dylan’s shoulder, “you have no idea …”
There are a million possible ends to the sentence, no idea how happy he is too, how much he loves the two of them, how glad he is he brought Dylan home.
But none seems quite enough for this moment, standing there with both his children within arms reach, so Ryan just leaves it at that, “You have no idea," he repeats.