“No, you’re more than.” I look away, my throat tightening, burning like someone lit a marshmallow on fire and stuffed it down my windpipe. And I’m not going to cry; it’s not that. But it’s like tears are lining up just on the other side of my eyeballs, ready to dive down my face if necessary.

Because this is the time for lots of things—but tears don’t make the cut. Not right now.

“Okay, so let’s get this party started. We got a day to seize!”

I roll out of bed. “Let’s get it!”

“I’m excited.” Whit claps her hands together. “Why’d we wait so long to do this?”

“We weren’t ready to do this.”

“So what’s changed?”

I shrug. “Us, I guess.”

Whit nods, takes a few steps into the hallway. “Okay, well, we can discuss our evolution more in the car. Get in the shower, because you smell like you’ve been lost in the jungle for weeks, and I’ll meet your ass in the kitchen.”

I sniff myself. “Your assessment’s definitely a tad harsh, I feel really attacked right now, but okay, give me five.”

Whit sniffs the same air. “Make it ten.”

“Hahaha, you’re so funny,” I say, already walking into the bathroom. I poke my head back out. “Umm, Whit?”

“Yeah?”

“Is there a reason you’re wearing a workout headband right now?”

Whit grins. “I figure we’re gonna be very active, so.”

I roll my eyes. “What you mean is, you’ve been looking for an excuse to rock that headband forever, and now you’re using Carpet Denim to justify it.”

Whit shrugs. “Whatever. I’m cute.” Whit makes a face. “See, baby’s kicking. Two kicks means yes. They agree with me.”

“Surprise, surprise, the baby you’re carrying, who is incapable of audible responses, agrees with their mother.”

“Sorry, I don’t make the rules, but I mean, it’s two against one. Basic math.”

I laugh. “So, this is what I have to look forward to? A lifetime of being outnumbered, outvoted, out-everything’d?”

“Wait a sec,” Whit says, holding her hand up. “Yep, two kicks.”

“Ohmigod,” I say in my best valley voice. “This is gonna be so much fun.”

“Should Uncle Jamal jump in the shower immediately?” She holds her hand up again. “Yikes! You’re not gonna believe this. Two more kicks. Baby Anderson has spoken.”

“Fine. You win,” I say, raising my hands in surrender. “But Baby Anderson, if you’re gonna live here, in this house, a word to the wise. If you have any measure of pride, please, please, don’t ever let your mom leave the house wearing a headband!”

I snatch the headband off her head and bound into the bathroom. I can barely lock the door, I’m cracking up so hard.