Page 9 of A Stag Family Christmas

I sigh. "Obviously I'm biased here. She's pregnant with a Stag child and they're financially secure and, you remember, Alice, I have connections with some high-risk obstetricians. I've been doing some research…"

"Of course you have, Tim," she says. "That's why I love you. I also think you've been researching this to avoid thinking about having to replace Juniper at work. And that's ok, too. You don't need to solve all your problems at once." I snort, and Alice stands up to start working on tying her curls back in a ponytail. It takes her awhile, and I love staring at her while she does it. She laughs and kisses my cheek. "Go talk to Emma, and ask Thatcher to borrow his truck so you can get the tree." Scooping up our son, she nuzzles his nose and climbs upstairs to wrestle him into some clothes. “I’ll make you some caramel sauce while you’re gone.”

She winks at me and disappears. I guess she’s right that I should go see my brother.

I grab a muffin and stick it in a paper bag, then grab a second one for Thatcher so it doesn't look like I'm a total asshole barging in on them before 8 in the morning.

By the time I get to their house, though, I see that I'm not their first visitor. Thatcher had bought a double lot on the north side of the city to renovate into a glass studio and living space. He put in a car port on the side lot with a little fenced in patio. I can't help but think how nice that would be for a little Stag kid to run around outside, maybe hang out with Petey. We don't bring him over here much, but I should probably change that. "Maybe Thatcher and Emma should host Thanksgiving," I mutter, blowing a cold breath into my fist. I wish I'd worn some gloves.

I park next to an unfamiliar black coupe and punch in the code to get inside. As I climb up to the loft, I hear a familiar voice. Emma's friend Nicole is yelling, "It all sounds like bullshit to me, Ems." Before I can decide whether to knock or eavesdrop, the door to the loft slides open and Nicole whips her head in my direction. "Oh, Christ, it's you," she sighs. "I guess you're here to talk sense into her, too."

I'm not sure what to say here, especially since I don't know what Nicole is talking about specifically, so I hold out the bag. "Alice sent muffins!" My voice is falsely cheerful as I try to assess this situation as I might a difficult courtroom.

Nicole snatches the bag from my hand and peers inside. She takes a muffin and tosses the bag to Emma, who is sprawled on the couch looking green. "Eat this," Nicole says. "I think you can keep it down." Changing her direction back to me, Nicole takes a bite, and says, "I take it you'rereallyhere to talk to Emma, though." I nod. "Good," she says. "We've got a small window here to make a decision and I don't believe Emma is approaching said decision properly."

"What do you mean?" Emma groans and runs into the bathroom. Nicole grins and walks over to the counter, where I see she has set out a giant pad of paper.

"Decisions require strategy," she says. "In any situation, you must lay out all the elements, weigh pros and cons, and take insight from all stakeholders." I see that Nicole has begun to write a lot of this down. I pull up a stool and nod for her to continue. "Now," she says, "Nobody is going to tell Emma what to do here. But I'd like to make sure she has approached this systematically." I see phrases like "health risk--comparatively minor" and "co-parenting potential--extraordinarily high."

Emma staggers back from the bathroom and Nicole hands her some water. "Are you ready to hear the rest of my presentation?" Emma rolls her eyes and nods. I sit back with my arms crossed as Nicole pulls out sheets of research study summaries. She tells Emma all about the risks of pregnancy for women with epilepsy, and counters each risk with information about resources available here in Pittsburgh. My jaw drops. I've never seen anyone so prepared for an argument since…well, since I put myself through law school. This is a master class on debate.

"Moving on," Nicole says, flipping the page. She's printed an unflattering picture of Thatcher and taped it to the paper. "Thatcher Stag has already won me over as a partner for you." She looks at Emma. "We've been over this part before, but now we have an audience, so I'm reviewing." Emma groans again while Nicole points out that Thatcher has a tendency toward crabbiness, but finds thoughtful gifts, is great with his nephew, and "the man doles out hundreds of orgasms, Ems." Nicole taps a pencil on the counter as Emma turns scarlet. I cough, uncomfortably. I suppose it's good to know my brother is a thoughtful lover.Where the hell are these thoughts coming from,I think, looking around for something else to focus on in my brother's apartment, with his pregnant fiancé looking nauseous.

"The way I see it," Nicole continues, "On paper, this pregnancy gets the green light. So I'm waiting for a rational rebuttal from you, Emma, because I've been over and over all of this and my advice to you would be to proceed."

Emma looks at me, and there's something in her eyes I can't place. "I'm scared," she whispers. "I'm scared of so many things. Like, what if I have a major seizure and cause brain damage to the baby? And what if…" she drifts off. "What if I'm a shitty mom?" As she says this, she begins to cry and I remember what Thatcher told me about her own mother's coldness, and her preference for Emma's older sister.

I came over here expecting to use logic and try to argue with Emma, but I see now that she just really needs a hug. I slip into another role I've been playing for decades, since my mother died. I wrap my arms around her and whisper into her hair. “I’m here. I will help you. Everything will be fine, Emma." She cries into my chest as I think about Alice, so confident in her mothering because she had such a vibrant mother and the close support of her huge family. "We are all here with you, Emma. All of us." I lift her chin and meet her eyes with my own. "You're a Stag now."

9

THATCHER

I open the door to my house to see Nicole staring at my brother, who is cradling Emma. "What the hell is everyone crying about," I say. As it's falling out of my mouth, I know I'm just proving everyone right who thinks I'm a cranky old bastard. This whole thing is fucking with my head. Emma won't even talk to me half the time, and it's killing me.

She's pregnant, carrying a tiny Stag baby. My fucking baby. And she won't talk about it since her stay in the hospital when she said she wasn't sure if she'd keep the pregnancy. I keep thinking back to our argument before she had the seizure. I know she's right--I haven't been doing a good job showing her how I feel about her. How she's my everything. The only person half the time who keeps me from being a hermit with no friends.

There’s no use dancing into this, so I just blurt, “Emma, you're the light of my life," and everyone whips their head around to stare at me. I ignore all of them but Emma. "Can I show you something?"

Nobody says anything, but Tim lets go of my girl and wipes at his eye. "Hey, man," he says, patting me on the shoulder. Apparently Emma is going to make me work to get her to come see my surprise. I shake off my coat and hang it on a hook as he keeps talking. Something about Christmas trees and Alice and Thanksgiving dinner. "So can I borrow your truck?"

"What?"

"Your truck. The old beater…white stick shift piece of shit truck? Can I borrow it?"

I have to laugh at the thought of Tim driving my truck when he's told me a thousand times that it's not up to his safety standards. "No can do, Timmy. Sorry."

"You don't have to be a dick, Thatcher. Alice asked me not to get pine needles in the Volvo."

Emma sniffs and I look over at her, meeting her gaze. "I can't lend you the truck because I got rid of it this morning," I say. I hold out a set of keys for Emma to see. "I wanted to get something safer. Something better for a family."

Nobody talks for a minute and I feel the crisp breeze come through the sliding door to our loft. "You sold the truck?" Emma's voice is a whisper. "You love that truck."

I nod and close the distance between us. God, it always feels so good to hold her. Her scent washes over me as I suck in great lungfuls of Emma. "I love you more," I say. I can practically hear Tim rolling his eyes at me. Emma lets me hug her and I pull her in, nestling my chin in her red hair, rubbing her back. She smells a little bit like peppermint today, and I’m glad she’s been drinking the tea I got her to settle her stomach.

In the background, I hear Nicole clicking her tongue at my brother. "What's the point of being filthy rich if you're not going to take advantage of the service industry," she scolds. I hear her clicking around on her phone. "Look," she says, shoving her phone in Tim's face as I pet Emma's hair. "This tree place delivers."

"How about the two of you get out of here and let me talk to Emma in peace," I say, squeezing her shoulders. "I want to show her my new family wagon. Which I had to park on the street, by the way, because there's no room in my own damn car port."

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