…his high school girlfriend gave birth.”
Every guest turned to look at me. My mother-in-law, Barbara, was smiling, waiting for me to fall apart.
I didn’t. I put the photograph down gently on the table and looked at my husband, Mike. Then I looked at Barbara.
“I know,” I said.
Barbara’s smile froze.
Mike had told me on our second date, eight years ago. At seventeen, his girlfriend became pregnant. Her parents insisted the baby be placed for adoption. Mike was at the hospital the night she gave birth. He held his son for twenty minutes before the adoptive family arrived. He’d thought about that baby every year since.
What I also knew, and Barbara didn’t, was that three years ago, Mike’s son, Tyler, had found him through an adoption registry. They’d been writing to each other ever since. Tyler was now twenty-five and a firefighter. He’d been invited to our baby shower. He was standing at the back of the room.
Mike walked over to him and brought him to the front. “Everyone,” he said, “this is my son, Tyler. My wife has known about him since our second date. My mother apparently thought this would be a good time to bring him up.”
Tyler shook my hand and said, “Congratulations. I’m going to be a great big brother.”
Barbara left the shower early. Mike’s sister apologized to me that night. Mike told his mother she wouldn’t be welcome at the hospital when the baby was born. She wasn’t. Tyler was the first person to hold his baby sister after her parents.
