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The sweet scent of damp soil, cut grass, and late-spring rain hung in the warm evening air as Max stood on the Sinclairs' front porch. She had her hands shoved deep into the pockets of Lucas’s oversized denim jacket, her thumbs idly tracing the worn denim seams inside. The golden light spilling through the frosted glass of the front door felt like a beacon in the twilight, bringing with it the familiar, comforting scents of roasted chicken, garlic, and the fresh floral wreath Mrs. Sinclair hung every spring.
Max’s stomach gave a quiet, fluttering twist—not the low, heavy morning sickness that had plagued her for weeks, which had finally faded into a distant memory, but a sudden, bright swell of nerves mixed with pure, bubbling excitement. They had made it past the twelve-week mark. They had sat together in that quiet doctor’s office, holding hands so tightly their knuckles turned white, and watched that tiny, miracle heartbeat flicker on the monitor screen, clear and steady.
Now, standing on this porch, the reality of what they were about to share made her blood sing with a quiet, restless energy.
"You okay?" Lucas whispered, stepping up behind her on the porch. He wrapped his broad arms around her waist, pulling her back flush against his chest and resting his chin comfortably on her shoulder. His warm hands covered hers inside her jacket pockets, his steady weight anchoring her instantly.
Max leaned her head back against his collarbone, watching the soft glow of the porch light reflecting in the fresh rain puddles by the wooden steps. "Yeah," she murmured softly, a genuine, quiet smile touching her lips as she turned her face slightly toward his. "Just... excited. And nervous. Mostly excited."
Lucas smiled, his dark eyes sparkling with a quiet, grounding warmth as he pressed a slow, lingering kiss right beneath her ear. "My mom is going to cry straight into the salad, my dad is going to give us a lecture on insurance policies, and Erica is going to demand to be named the godmother. But it's going to be great."
Max let out a small, breathless laugh, turning her face to kiss his jaw. "Alright, Sinclair. Ring the bell."
The door swung open a moment later, revealing Mrs. Sinclair wiping her hands on a dish towel, her face immediately lighting up as she pulled them both into the warm entryway. "Oh, good, you two made it before the gravy cooled! Come in, take off those dirty shoes."
Dinner was a lively, comfortable affair that felt entirely unchanged from the countless meals Max had shared with his family over the years. Mrs. Sinclair had prepared a heavy Sunday spread, passing bowls of roasted chicken, steamed green beans, and hot buttermilk biscuits across the table while Mr. Sinclair asked Lucas about his work schedule and the upcoming repairs on their house.
"The roof on the back porch is going to need fresh shingles before the heavy rains start," Mr. Sinclair advised, carefully cutting his chicken. "I can come over next Saturday and help you lay them down."
"That'd be great, Dad," Lucas replied, though his mind was clearly elsewhere. He kept his posture relaxed, but his knuckles were white where he gripped his fork.
Erica, back home for the weekend from her college dorm, held court at the end of the table, detailing the utter incompetence of her professors with her usual sharp, razor-edged wit. "He spent forty-five minutes explaining supply curves like we were eight years old," she complained, taking a crisp bite of green bean. "I literally raised my hand and asked if he needed me to teach the rest of the lecture."
"Erica, please," Mrs. Sinclair sighed fond-heartedly, though a proud smile twitched at her lips. "Be polite to your instructors."
Max sat beside Lucas, eating with a healthy appetite for the first time in months. The warmth of the room, the steady hum of chatter, and the secret tucked safely between her and Lucas made her skin tingle. Every few minutes, her foot would lightly nudge Lucas’s ankle under the table—a silent, impatient now?
Max reached for the pitcher of iced tea, her eyes catching Mrs. Sinclair’s watchful gaze across the table.
"Max, dear, you're looking so much better than you did a few weeks ago," Mrs. Sinclair noted with a warm, maternal smile as she passed the bowl of potatoes back. "That nasty little bug you had seems to have completely cleared up. You've actually got color in your cheeks tonight."
Max froze for a fraction of a second, her lips twitching with a hidden grin as her eyes met Lucas’s across the short space between their chairs. Beneath the linen tablecloth, Lucas’s hand came down to rest flat over her knee, his broad palm warm, solid, and reassuring as his fingers slid down to lace tightly with hers.
Max swallowed hard, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. "It... it wasn't a bug, Sue.”
She looked down at the table, taking a slow, steadying breath. Lucas took the lead, leaning forward and clearing his throat, though his own voice sounded slightly tight with raw emotion.
"We wanted to come over tonight because... well, we need to tell you something," Lucas said softly. He pulled Max’s hand out from under the table, laying their joined fingers flat on the tablecloth. "We had our twelve-week follow-up scan on Monday."
The dining room went entirely silent. Mr. Sinclair stopped midway through carving a piece of turkey, his heavy eyebrows pulling together, while Mrs. Sinclair’s eyes darted rapidly between their intertwined hands and Max’s face. Even Erica stopped twirling her fork, her sharp gaze fixing intently on her brother.
"Lucas..." Mrs. Sinclair began, her voice dropping an octave, trembling with sudden realization. "What are you saying?"
Max looked up, meeting Mrs. Sinclair’s eyes directly, her thumb stroking over the back of Lucas's knuckles. "I'm pregnant," she whispered, her voice small at first, then blossoming clear and steady in the warm room. "We're past the first trimester. Everything is healthy... you're going to be grandparents."
For three long seconds, nobody moved. You could hear the slow, rhythmical tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway and the faint hum of the refrigerator.
Then, Mrs. Sinclair let out a soft, gasped sob, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. Tears instantly welled in her eyes as she pushed back her chair so hard it scraped loudly against the hardwood floor. Before Max could even register the movement, Lucas's mother was around the table, pulling Max up into a fiercely protective, tight embrace.
"Oh, my sweet girl," Mrs. Sinclair cried softly into Max's hair, her hands stroking her back. "Oh, Max... sweetheart."
Max felt her throat knot tight, her eyes stinging as she wrapped her arms around the older woman, breathing in the comforting scent of lavender soap and cinnamon. "We're really happy," Max murmured, her voice thick with emotion, her face buried in Sue’s shoulder.
"You're going to be wonderful," Mrs. Sinclair sobbed, pulling back just enough to frame Max’s face with both hands, thumbing away a stray tear on Max's cheek before turning to yank Lucas into the hug as well, kissing the side of her son's head repeatedly while Lucas wrapped both women in his long arms, laughing softly against his mother’s hair. "Both of you. Oh, my goodness… a baby! Charles, a baby!”
Across the table, Mr. Sinclair slowly stood up. He was a tall, broad man of few words, but the look in his eyes was heavy with a profound, quiet warmth. He walked around the table and set a large, heavy hand on Lucas’s shoulder, squeezing tight.
Lucas turned around to face his father. For a moment, the two men just looked at each other—a quiet understanding passing between them that didn't need words. Lucas saw the fierce, steady pride shining in his father's dark eyes, the very thing he had spent his life aiming to reflect.
"Congratulations, son," Mr. Sinclair said, his voice deep and gravelly with unshed emotion. He pulled Lucas into a brief, powerful embrace, clapping him hard on the back, before turning his warm gaze to Max. He reached out, gently patting Max's shoulder with a soft smile touching his mouth. “You're going to be a wonderful mother, Max. We're right here behind you. Anything you two need, you just say the word."
"Thank you, Charles," Max whispered, feeling a deep, steadying warmth bloom in her chest.
"Well," Erica’s clear, sharp voice cut smoothly through the emotional atmosphere.
Everyone turned to look at her. She was sitting back in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest, trying very hard to look unimpressed despite the bright, suspicious shine in her dark eyes.
"If this kid inherits Lucas's coordination, we're putting them in bubble wrap until they're eighteen," Erica stated flatly. She slid out of her chair, walking over to stand in front of Max. She looked down at Max's stomach—where a tiny, barely noticeable curve was just starting to show—then up at her face, her signature smirk twitching at the corner of her mouth. "And I'm the favorite aunt. It's not up for debate."
Max let out a tearful, genuine laugh, reaching out to pull Erica into a brief hug. "Deal, Erica. Deal."
“Very well," Erica muttered against Max's shoulder, though her arms wrapped tightly around Max's waist for a long, quiet second before she pulled back and cleared her throat. "Now, Mom, I'll clear the plates. Don’t get used to it though.”
Once Erica disappeared into the kitchen with the first stack of dishes, Sue gently pulled Max back down into her chair, keeping both of Max's hands held securely in her own. The tears on Sue's cheeks had dried into a glowing, fierce warmth as she searched Max's face with maternal care.
"Sit, sit, my sweet girl," Sue said softly, her thumbs gently stroking the backs of Max's hands. "I need to hear how you're really doing, Max. Have you been sleeping? Are you taking enough quiet time for yourself during the day? The first trimester takes such a toll on your body, and I want to make sure you're resting."
Max smiled, feeling a soft, settling peace wash over her. "I'm feeling so much better. Honestly, weeks eight and nine were pretty brutal with the nausea, but over the last couple of weeks, it completely lifted. My energy is back, and I'm not falling asleep on the couch at seven o'clock anymore."
"Oh, thank goodness," Sue breathed, her eyes shimmering with relief. "And what about your appetite? Are your prenatal vitamins agreeing with you, or are they making your stomach turn? Sometimes those iron supplements can be so heavy."
"They were making me a little sick at first," Max admitted gently, "but the doctor switched me to a gentler blend, so it’s been totally fine. And I'm finally eating full meals again."
“That’s good. Are you having any cravings yet?" Sue asked with a tender, nostalgic smile, squeezing Max's fingers. "Or food aversions? When I was pregnant with Lucas, I couldn't even stand the smell of black pepper, but I wanted sour apples all day long."
Max flushed softly, a genuine laugh bubbling up. "No weird midnight cravings yet, but all I want lately is salty stuff. Pickles, chips, pretzels... anything salty."
"That's so typical," Sue said fondly, her gaze shifting between Max and Lucas with uncontained pride. "And the appointment on Monday went well? What did the doctor say about our grandbaby?"
"Measuring right on schedule," Lucas answered, his voice rich with quiet pride as he stepped up beside Max, resting a protective hand over her shoulder. He reached into his back pocket, pulling out the small, carefully folded printout from their latest scan and unfolding it gently over the tablecloth. "Heartbeat is holding strong at 145 beats a minute—just as clear as during our first scan."
Sue let out a faint, trembling gasp, taking the black-and-white image into her hands as if it were made of spun glass. "Oh, Charles... look at this," she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. "Look at the sweet little profile. You can see the tiny nose and chin so clearly... they look so whole and perfect already."
Mr. Sinclair stepped up beside his wife's chair, placing a heavy, grounding hand on Sue's shoulder as he leaned down to study the scan. A rare, profoundly soft smile touched his face. "A strong little heart," Charles murmured quietly, looking up at Lucas and clapping his son on the shoulder. "You're going to be an incredible father, Lucas. I couldn't be prouder of you both."
"Thanks, Dad," Lucas said softly, his dark eyes shining as his hand slid down to lace tightly with Max's.
"Have you felt any soft little flutters yet, Max?" Sue asked gently, setting the photo down and reaching out to pat Max's hand. "It might still be a little early, but sometimes you feel those faint little movements right around twelve or thirteen weeks."
"Not yet," Max admitted, resting her free hand lightly over her abdomen, where the warmth of her own skin felt deeply grounding. "The doctor said it'll probably be a few more weeks before I feel anything real. But seeing that tiny heartbeat flickering on the screen... it makes everything feel so real."
Sue squeezed Max's hand with a soft, knowing smile. "And how are you two feeling mentally? Holding up okay with the shock of it all?"
Max chuckled softly, brushing a stray reddish curl behind her ear as she bumped her shoulder playfully against Lucas’s hip. "Honestly? At first, I kept waiting for the panic to set in. But Lucas hasn't let me spiral once—he’s been reading pregnancy books like he’s studying for a final exam."
"Hey, somebody has to stay informed," Lucas teased with a low grin, squeezing her hand.
"He really has," Max said, her voice softening as she looked up at Sue with a light, genuine warmth. "A few weeks ago, I was definitely overwhelmed. But now that we're past the first trimester and seeing how excited everyone is... I just feel good, Sue. Really happy. Tired, but really happy."
"You're going to be wonderful," Sue said softly, beaming at her with an affectionate, steady smile. "Both of you."
Erica walked back into the dining room carrying a tray with a fresh pot of warm water, a couple of mugs, and a plate of lemon slices. She set it down gently in the center of the table, sliding a mug over toward Max before taking her seat.
"Hot water with lemon," Erica said, her tone smooth and measured. "Mom usually makes coffee after dinner, but I figured you'd prefer something different now."
Max looked at the steaming mug, then up at Erica, whose sharp eyes softened just enough to betray the quiet care behind the gesture.
"Thanks, Erica," Max said gently, a warm, affectionate smile touching her lips.
"Don't mention it," Erica replied simply, setting a mug in front of her mother.
Sue took a small sip of her tea, looking down at the ultrasound printout with an affectionate, playful twinkle suddenly lighting up her eyes. "You know... 145 beats a minute, bad morning sickness early on, plus wanting all those salty snacks? My money is on a baby girl. Old wives' tales say high heart rates mean girls, and when I was pregnant with Lucas, his heart rate was always lower."
Erica tilted her head, taking a sip from her own mug as a classic, dry smirk tugged at her lips. "Mom, using ancient superstition to predict biology is medically questionable at best. But if it is a girl, I'm taking full credit for setting the bar high on female standards in this house."
Max laughed softly, shaking her head. "We'll find out soon enough."
"Are you two planning on finding out at the twenty-week scan?" Charles asked, leaning against the back of Sue's chair with a curious, quiet smile. "Or holding out for a surprise?"
Max and Lucas shared a quick, amused look. "We're definitely finding out," Max said with a light grin. "Lucas pretends he's patient, but he'll drive himself crazy if we have to wait until delivery."
"Hey, I just like to plan ahead," Lucas protested, laughing as he took his seat beside Max.
"Speaking of planning... You should hear the baby names Lucas has been trying to push."
"Oh, really?" Sue’s eyes lit up with instant delight, leaning forward over her tea mug. "Let me guess—is he trying to name the baby after an eighties basketball star?"
"Worse," Max teased, winking across the table. "He suggested Bartholomew yesterday. Completely unironically."
Erica let out a short, scoffing snort into her tea. "If you name my nephew Bartholomew, I am legally disowning you as a brother."
"It's a strong, classic name!" Lucas defended, though a red flush crept up his neck as his dad clapped him on the shoulder, chuckling deeply. "And it was just an idea! We have a real list."
"We're keeping the top contenders secret for now," Max added, resting her hand over Lucas's knee under the table and feeling him instantly cover it with his broad palm. "But we might lean toward a nice middle name to honor family when the time comes."
Sue’s face softened completely, a look of profound, quiet gratitude washing over her features. "Whatever you choose, it'll be perfect," Sue said softly, reaching across the table to pat Max's hand once more. "When we brought Lucas home from the hospital, Charles... remember how tiny he looked in that yellow blanket? It feels like just yesterday he was sleeping in a crib, and now..." She smiled, blinking away a fresh glint of emotion. "Time moves so fast once they're here."
"It really does," Charles agreed quietly, his voice heavy with a deep, peaceful warmth as he looked at his son and Max. "Enjoy every second of it."
Max closed her eyes for a brief second, letting the gentle clinking of tea mugs, the quiet hum of laughter, and the cozy warmth of the Sinclairs' dining room wrap around her like a blanket. Sitting here—anchored by Lucas's steady hand in hers, listening to Erica's dry remarks and Sue's tender stories—she had never felt more at home.
She turned her head to look up at Lucas. He was already watching her, his dark eyes glowing with an easy, quiet devotion that made her pulse flutter. He leaned down, pressing a quick, tender kiss against her temple.
"See?" Lucas murmured softly against her hair. "Told you."
Max smiled, her fingers tightening securely around his. "Yeah, yeah. You were right."
_____________
The front porch light of Max and Lucas’s small, homey cottage cast a warm, amber halo over the wooden porch boards, cutting through the crisp twilight air. Inside, the quiet calm of their usual routine had been completely upended by stacks of colorful paper plates, streamer rolls, and a drawn-out battle over party supplies.
With the sixteen-week mark fast approaching and Max’s bump finally rounding out enough to make hiding it under Lucas’s oversized sweaters difficult, the secret was about to officially end. Tomorrow afternoon, the whole gang was coming over for dinner.
Max sat cross-legged on the rug in the living room, surrounded by handwritten grocery lists and a half-eaten box of salted crackers. She was leaning back against the front of the sofa, watching Lucas pace the length of the coffee table with a yellow legal pad tucked under his arm.
"Okay, so Steve offered to bring the ice, but we both know he’s going to bring three times as much as we need," Lucas said, tapping his pen against his chin thoughtfully as he checked off another line on his yellow legal pad. "Nancy’s bringing a couple of side dishes, Robin volunteered to pick up drinks, and Mom is sending over enough food to feed a small army."
He set the notepad down on the coffee table and walked over to sit on the rug beside her. Lucas wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her gently against his side, his hand naturally sliding down to rest flat over her stomach. His broad palm was warm and solid, his fingers tracing the soft curve beneath her fleece sweatshirt.
"How are you feeling?" Lucas asked softly, leaning down to press a tender kiss against the top of her head. "You've been on your feet helping me scrub the kitchen all afternoon."
"I'm fine, Lucas," Max murmured, resting her head comfortably against his shoulder and letting out a quiet, relaxed sigh. "My lower back aches a little bit, but honestly, it's just nice not feeling like I'm going to throw up every five minutes anymore. Energy’s fine."
Lucas smiled, rubbing her arm gently before resting his chin against her hair. "That's a relief. Though honestly, I don't know if I'm mentally prepared for how everyone is going to react tomorrow."
Max grinned, leaning her weight into him. "Oh, it's going to be absolute chaos. I can already picture Dustin turning into a pseudo-pediatrician the second the shock wears off."
"Ten seconds," Lucas teased, dark eyes sparkling with quiet amusement. "He’s going to start lecturing us on fetal brain development and asking if we've been playing classical music to your stomach."
"And El," Max said, her voice softening with a quiet, tender warmth as she covered Lucas's hand over her bump. "She's going to lose her mind. I think she's going to cry happy tears the very second we tell them."
"Oh, absolutely," Lucas agreed softly, his thumb rubbing small circles against Max's hip. "Mike is probably going to look completely frozen for five full minutes trying to process it, and Steve..." He paused, shaking his head with a warm grin. "...Steve is going to spend the rest of the night asking me if I know how to install a car seat properly."
Max let out a genuine, bubbly laugh, the sound filling the cozy room. "Let them freak out. I can't wait to see their faces."
"Me neither," Lucas murmured softly, pressing another gentle kiss to her temple, his hand giving her bump a protective, tender squeeze.
The front door opened after a quick, rhythmic knock, and Erica stepped inside carrying two large, overflowing cardboard boxes. She kicked the door shut with her heel, using her elbow to balance the load.
"Move it, prospective parents," Erica announced smoothly, marching straight past them toward the kitchen counter. "Mom sent over three different casseroles that just need to be baked tomorrow, two pie crusts, and a box of cloth napkins because she doesn't trust Lucas to buy napkins that don't tear."
"Hey!" Lucas called out, though he was already smiling as he helped Max up from the floor. "I buy perfectly fine napkins!"
"You buy the cheapest one-ply paper towels on the market, Lucas," Erica retorted flatly, pulling a glass baking dish out of the top box and setting it in the fridge. She turned around, crossing her arms and looking between the two of them. "So? Is everything ready, or am I going to have to manage the seating chart tomorrow?"
"Everything's ready," Max said softly, leaning into Lucas's side as his arm slipped securely around her waist. "We've got the food, the drinks, and the news."
Erica looked at Max's bump, then up at her face, a brief, surprisingly sweet look of softness touching her dark eyes before her usual sharp smirk took over. "Good. And if Steve Harrington starts crying before the appetizers are served, I'm taking photos."
Lucas chuckled, squeezing Max tight against him. "Deal."
_____________
The late afternoon sun streamed through the front windows of Max and Lucas’s cottage, painting the living room in rich, golden shades of honey and amber. The house smelled incredible—a rich, savory mix of Mrs. Sinclair’s baking casseroles, garlic bread heating in the oven, and fresh cinnamon apples simmering on the stove.
Max stood by the dining table, adjusting a stack of cloth napkins. She had traded her usual baggy denim jacket for a soft, cream-colored knitted sweater—fitted enough that her sixteen-week bump was unmistakably round against her waist. Lucas stood beside her, casually sliding his arm around her waist, his thumb resting right over the warm curve as he checked his watch.
"Five minutes past four," Lucas murmured, leaning down to kiss her cheek. "Harrington’s late."
"Steve’s driving a car full of grown adults who still argue like middle schoolers, Lucas," Max teased, turning her head to smile up at him. "Give him a second."
Right on cue, tires crunched over the gravel driveway outside, followed immediately by the loud, familiar clatter of car doors slamming shut and overlapping voices arguing over who had to carry the cooler.
Max took a soft, steadying breath. Beneath her sweater, her heart did a quick, nervous little flutter—pure, excited anticipation. Lucas squeezed her hip, his dark eyes glowing with quiet, grounding reassurance.
The front door burst open without a knock.
"Alright, clear a path, we’ve got heavy cargo!" Steve yelled, stepping inside backwards while awkwardly kicking the door open further with his boot. He was wrestling a massive, dripping red cooler through the entryway. "And somebody tell Dustin that if he changes the radio station in my car one more time, he’s walking back to his apartment."
"It was a podcast on ancient civilization, Steve! It’s called expanding your horizons!" Dustin shouted, crowding in right behind him, bundled up in a denim jacket and a baseball cap.
Behind them, the rest of the gang flooded in like a tidal wave—Robin holding two paper bags of sodas, Nancy carefully balancing a covered pie dish while Jonathan followed close behind her carrying a massive bowl of Mrs. Byers' potato salad, Mike and Will carrying bags of ice, and Eleven stepping in last, quietly pulling off her yellow jacket.
"Sorry we're a little late," Jonathan said softly as he headed over to the dining table to set the bowl down. "We had to drop off the baby at my mom's on the way over so Nancy and I could actually have an adult night out without tracking nap times."
"Hey guys! Set the cooler by the kitchen—" Lucas started, but the sentence trailed off.
Dustin had dropped his bag onto the floor, turning toward the living room with a bright, boisterous grin. "Hey Max, we brought the—"
He stopped dead in his tracks.
Dustin’s eyes dropped from Max’s face down to her sweater, fixing directly on the distinct, smooth swell of her waist, then back up to her face. His jaw slowly unhinged. The bag of chips in his hand slipped right through his fingers, hitting the hardwood floor with a soft thud.
"What the..." Mike muttered, bumping into Dustin’s back. He looked past Dustin's shoulder, saw Max, and froze instantly, his eyes going wide as saucers.
"What's the holdup, you guys are blocking the door—" Steve complained, shoving past Mike. He set the heavy cooler down with a loud bang, wiped his brow, and turned around. "Max, where do you want these—"
Steve went completely still. His mouth stayed half-open in mid-sentence. He blinked once. Twice. His gaze darted from Max’s bump, over to Lucas’s hand resting securely over her hip, and then back to Max's smiling face.
Silence fell over the living room so fast you could hear the oven timer ticking in the kitchen.
Eleven stepped out from behind Mike. She didn't say a word. Her big brown eyes locked onto Max's stomach, her lips parting in a quiet, breathless gasp. She looked up at Max, a sudden, bright shine of unshed tears welling in her eyes.
"Max?" El whispered, her voice tiny and trembling.
Max felt a lump form in her throat, a soft, tearful smile breaking across her face. "Hi, El."
El covered her mouth with both hands, letting out a soft, sob-like laugh before walking straight across the living room. She didn't tackle Max—she moved with deliberate, tender care, wrapping her arms around Max’s shoulders and burying her face into Max's neck.
"You're... you're having a baby," El cried softly, her arms hugging Max tight, but careful not to press against her stomach.
"We're having a baby," Max confirmed, her voice thick with emotion as she hugged El back, resting her chin on El’s shoulder.
"HOLY SHIT!" Dustin finally exploded, his voice cracking loudly as he snapped out of his trance. He threw his hands into the air, practically jumping off the floor. "LUCAS! MAX! ARE YOU SERIOUS?!"
"Wait—wait, hold on!" Steve stuttered, his hands flying up to his hair, pulling at his soft brown locks in sheer, unadulterated shock. He looked at Lucas like he had just grown a second head. "You—you two? A baby?! Like... a real baby? Right now?!"
"No, Steve, it's a decoy sweater," Robin deadpanned from the doorway, though her own eyes were huge and her hands were shaking as she set the soda bags down on the table. "Of course it's a real baby! Oh my god, guys!"
Nancy was already beaming, setting her pie down on the counter and walking over with her hands over her heart. "Max, Lucas... oh, congratulations!" She looked at Max’s soft bump with a warm, deeply knowing smile, the memory of her own pregnancy with Jonathan's little one just a year ago softening her features. "You look absolutely glowing, Max."
Jonathan stepped over right behind Nancy, his expression softening with deep, genuine warmth—that unmistakable look of someone who had walked this exact path just a year prior. "Max, Lucas..." Jonathan said, leaning down to give Max a gentle, careful hug before reaching over to clap Lucas hard on the shoulder. "Congratulations. You look incredible, Max."
"Thanks, Jonathan," Max said softly, smiling up at him. "How's your little one doing?"
"Sleeping through the night—finally," Jonathan chuckled, running a hand through his hair with a tired but deeply happy grin. "If you need any realistic survival tips for the first three months, I'm your guy. Don't listen to Steve. He tried to help us assemble our stroller and ended up with two extra wheels and a leftover brake pedal."
"Hey!" Steve yelled, pointing a finger at Jonathan. "That manual was written in three different languages and none of them were English!"
"It had diagrams, Steve," Nancy pointed out smoothly from the counter, taking a sip of her drink as the room erupted into collective laughter.
Mike was still standing completely frozen by the door, staring at Lucas with his mouth slightly open. "How... when did... you guys didn't say anything! We've hung out three times this month!"
"We wanted to make sure everyone was healthy first," Lucas explained, a broad, triumphant grin spreading across his face as he pulled Max closer into his side. "We just passed sixteen weeks. Everything's great."
Dustin charged forward, grabbing Lucas by the shoulders and shaking him vigorously before pulling him into a hard, enthusiastic hug. "Sixteen weeks?! You kept this from us for four months?! You absolute traitor, I'm so happy for you!"
Steve was still standing in the middle of the room, looking frantically between Lucas and Max, his brain visibly short-circuiting as he rubbed the back of his neck.
"Sixteen weeks..." Steve breathed. Then, his eyes widened with sudden, intense panic, pointing a finger straight at Lucas. "Sinclair. Do you even have a car seat yet? What kind of car are you driving these days? Is it crash-tested? Nancy, tell him—the convertible car seats are a nightmare to install if you don't start researching early!"
Nancy let out a soft laugh, resting a hand on Steve’s arm to calm him down. "Steve, relax. They have months. Trust me, Jonathan went through the exact same panic spiral with our baby, and we survived."
Max burst into a genuine, loud laugh, resting her hand over her bump as Lucas shot her a look that plainly said 'I told you so'.
"Steve, calm down," Robin laughed, shoving Steve playfully in the arm before stepping up to give Max a gentle, warm hug. "Give them five minutes before you start parent-splaining!"
Will walked over with a soft, quiet smile, his eyes warm as he looked at Max. "Congratulations, Max. You look really happy."
"I am, Will," Max said softly, leaning into Lucas's side as the living room filled with the joyous, chaotic chatter of their best friends. "We really, really are."
Within twenty minutes, the initial shock had dissolved into a cozy, lively celebration. The dining table was loaded with dishes, and everyone crowded into the living room and kitchen, talking over one another while Mrs. Sinclair’s casseroles disappeared rapidly.
Erica emerged from the kitchen holding a digital camera she had brought from home, stepping into the living room with a look of supreme superiority as she observed Steve currently pacing near the coffee table.
"Told you," Erica murmured smoothly to Max, leaning over the back of the sofa with her camera held up. She aimed it straight at Steve’s wide-eyed, frantic expression as he lectured Lucas on diaper bag organization, snapping a photo with a bright flash. "Exhibit A. Harrington in full meltdown mode."
"Erica, don't take photos of me while I'm giving vital parental advice!" Steve protested, wiping his forehead with a napkin.
"I'm documenting historical incompetence, Steve, move along," Erica replied dryly, stepping back to lean against the wall with her arms crossed, though a clear, proud gleam lit up her dark eyes as she looked over at Max and her brother.
Dustin was already leaning over the kitchen counter, balancing a paper plate of garlic bread in one hand while gesturing wildly at Lucas with the other.
"Look, all I'm saying is that auditory development starts earlier than most people think," Dustin insisted, his eyes bright behind his glasses. "I'm going to compile a mixtape. Classical music, sure, but also classic rock. This baby needs a balanced acoustic environment before month six!"
"No metal, Dustin," Max called out from the sofa, leaning back comfortably against the cushions with her feet resting on the coffee table. "If you put Eddie's heavy metal tapes on that mixtape, I'm throwing it in the trash."
"It builds character, Max!" Dustin countered, though he was grinning ear to ear.
Jonathan looked over at Dustin, then over at Lucas, shaking his head with a quiet, amused laugh. "Dustin, when Nancy was sixteen weeks, I played a cassette tape of the ocean to her stomach and she told me if I didn't turn it off, she'd throw the radio through the window."
Max burst into a loud, genuine laugh, pointing a finger at Dustin. "See?! Thank you, Jonathan!"
"I stand by that decision," Nancy added with a sweet, dangerous smile.
Dustin crossed his arms, puffing out his chest with mock dignity. "Fine. But as the Chief Educational Uncle, I reserve the right to curate all brain-boosting audio."
"Chief Educational Uncle?" Steve scoffed, setting his drink down on a coaster and looking at Dustin with deep offense. "Hold on a second. If anyone gets top billing on the uncle hierarchy, it's me. I've got a car, a toolbox, and actual experience babysitting all of you insufferable idiots."
"Babysitting us forever ago doesn't qualify you to teach a child higher-level problem solving, Steve!" Dustin shot back, though his eyes were sparkling with mischievous amusement. "You're the fun uncle who buys them ice cream when they're bad. I am the mentor."
"I am not just the fun uncle!" Steve argued, gesturing wildly. "I am going to teach this kid how to swing a baseball bat and change a tire!"
"Robin, tell him I'm higher on the rank," Dustin appealed, turning to her.
Robin took a slow sip of her soda, looking between the two of them with an evil little smirk. "Actually, I've already assigned myself Cool Aunt Robin, which carries automatic veto power over both of your titles. And ten bucks says Mike ends up being the uncle who accidentally panics and calls 911 the first time the baby sneezes."
"Hey!" Mike yelled from the floor, though the whole room burst into laughter again.
While the bickering continued, Lucas quietly noticed Max subtly shifting her weight on the couch, a faint tightness touching the corners of her eyes as she rubbed her lower back. Without a word, Lucas stepped away from Steve and Dustin, walking over to the linen closet. He returned with a soft fleece throw blanket and a plush lumbar pillow.
Gently sliding onto the cushion beside her, Lucas tucked the pillow behind her lower back and draped the blanket over her knees. He then casually guided her feet off the coffee table and lifted them into his lap, his large, warm hands beginning to knead her sore arches with a slow, firm pressure.
Max let out a quiet, involuntary sigh of absolute relief, her eyes half-closing as she sank deeper into the sofa. "God, Sinclair... you're a lifesaver."
"You've been on your feet way too long today," Lucas murmured softly, his thumb pressing gently into the heel of her foot while keeping his voice low enough for just her to hear. "Better?"
"Infinitely better," Max whispered back, reaching out to rest her hand over his thigh, her thumb stroking his jeans with quiet gratitude.
Eleven sat on the edge of the coffee table right in front of Max, her chin resting on her hands as she looked at Max's stomach with pure, quiet wonder.
"Is the baby sleeping right now?" El asked quietly, her voice full of soft reverence.
Max looked at El, her heart melting just a little bit more. She reached out, taking El’s hand and bringing it over to rest gently on the smooth curve of her bump over the soft sweater.
"Probably," Max said softly, a tender smile touching her lips. "They're pretty small right now, but in a few more weeks, you'll be able to feel them kick."
El’s eyes lit up with absolute delight, her fingers resting light as a feather over Max's stomach, her thumb idly stroking the fabric as if trying to catch a faint, invisible flutter beneath it. "I will be the best aunt," El stated with quiet determination, looking up at Max. "I will protect them."
"I know you will, El," Max whispered, her eyes shining. "I know you will."
El kept her hand resting gently over Max's bump, her expression thoughtful as she watched the soft curve beneath her palm.
"Max?" El murmured softly, her quiet voice cutting through the background bickering.
Max turned her head, her expression instantly softening. "Yeah?"
"Are you scared?" El asked quietly, her big brown eyes searching Max's face with deep, honest care. "When Nancy and Jonathan had their baby... there was so much crying. And sleeping was hard."
The room quieted down, the chaotic bickering fading into a respectful hush as everyone caught the gentle sincerity in El's question. Max looked at El, reaching out to wrap her fingers reassuringly around El's hand over her bump.
"A little bit," Max admitted gently, her tone honest and grounded. "In the beginning, when I first found out, I was terrified. But... every week it gets a little more real, and a little less scary. And I'm not doing it alone." She looked up at Lucas, whose hand had moved up from her foot to rest warm and steady on her shoulder, his fingers lightly stroking her collarbone. "We've got Lucas, and his parents... and we've got all of you."
El looked up at Lucas, then back at Max, a bright, beautiful smile breaking across her face. "You will never be alone," El said, her voice steady and absolute. "We are all here."
"Alright, that's it, I'm crying," Steve announced flatly, sitting back in his chair and aggressively blinking away a shine in his eyes while pulling a napkin from the table. "Robin, hand me a soda. I'm emotionally compromised."
"Oh, Harrington," Robin laughed, leaning over to pat his knee affectionately. "You're soft."
"I am not soft, I just appreciate strong family values!" Steve insisted, though a warm smirk tugged at his mouth as he looked over at Max and Lucas.
Jonathan stepped up beside Nancy, wrapping an arm around her waist as they both looked over at Lucas and Max with shared, quiet understanding. "You two are going to be amazing," Jonathan said softly. "It's scary, but it's the best thing in the world."
"Thanks, man," Lucas murmured, his dark eyes glowing with a quiet, steady pride as his hand slid down to lace tightly with Max's over her little bump.
_____________
By ten o'clock, the flurry of excitement had gradually settled down. After a round of final, warm hugs, promises to help with future home projects, and Steve insisting three separate times that Lucas call him the second they started looking at stroller safety ratings, the gang finally piled back out into the cool night air. The tail lights of Steve’s car and Jonathan’s station wagon disappeared down the gravel driveway, leaving the cottage in a quiet, peaceful stillness.
Lucas clicked the front door shut, throwing the deadbolt before turning back around. He leaned his back against the wooden door frame, letting out a long, slow exhale, a tired but profoundly happy smile tugging at his lips.
"Well," Lucas said softly, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the house. "They survived the shock."
Max was still sitting on the couch, wrapped in her fleece blanket, watching him with soft, glowing eyes. "I think Steve almost fainted at least twice."
"At least," Lucas chuckled, walking across the rug toward her.
He didn't sit on the couch right away; instead, he knelt right on the rug between her knees, looking up at her face. He reached out, gently smoothing his thumb over her cheek.
"How are you feeling?" Lucas asked softly, his eyes searching hers with quiet concern. "Back aching? Feet sore?"
"A little of both," Max admitted softly, a small, genuine smile touching her lips. "My lower back is definitely killing me... but honestly, my face hurts more from smiling all night."
Lucas let out a quiet, tender laugh, leaning up to press a soft kiss against her forehead. “I love you."
He rested his hand over her stomach, his palm warming the soft knit fabric of her sweater. Max looked down at his hand, her smile softening even more. She reached down, catching the hem of her sweater and sliding it up just enough to take his hand, guiding his bare palm underneath so his warm skin rested directly against the smooth curve of her bump.
Lucas caught his breath softly, his fingers splaying wide across her stomach, his thumb gently caressing her warm skin. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss directly against her bump before resting his forehead gently against her skin.
"Hey little one," Lucas whispered, his voice low and thick with emotion against her skin. "We’ve got a whole crazy crew out there waiting to meet you. You're going to be so loved."
Max stayed quiet, a soft, happy smile lighting up her face. She reached down, her thumb gently tracing the line of his jaw before sliding her fingers into his hair, guiding his face up toward hers.
Lucas looked up into her eyes, his broad hand staying warm and steady against her bump as his thumb stroked her cheek.
He pulled her down into a sweet, lingering kiss, the soft, warm glow of the living room lamp washing over them in a gentle, amber light as they held each other close.