Call the Shots (Swim the Fly #3)(10)

“We’re moving?” A panicky flutter dances in my chest.

Mom flashes a quick tight-lipped smile. “No. We’re not moving.”

“Funds . . . are going to be a little tight for a while,” Dad says. “Especially since we want your mother to be able to stay home with the baby for the first few months.”

My head swivels from Dad to Mom to Dad to Mom. “So it is going to sleep with you?”

“I’m afraid that won’t work out,” Mom explains. “I’m going to be up and down all night with feedings. It’d be too disruptive with your father having to get up so early for work.”

“Well, it’s not sleeping in my room,” Cathy declares. “I’ll tell you that right now.”

“That’s not fair,” I say. “I’ve already got the smallest bedroom.”

“Too bad.” Cathy shrugs. “I’m the oldest. And I called it.”

“The baby’s not going to be sleeping with either one of you,” Mom says.

An incredible wave of relief washes over me.

“That’s right.” Dad picks up his knife and fork and begins sawing off a piece of his popover. “We’ve discussed the situation extensively, and the only reasonable solution we could come up with”— he pops the gravy-drenched dough into his mouth and starts chewing —“is that the two of you will have to share Cathy’s bedroom.”

Cathy whips her head in Dad’s direction. “I don’t think so.”

“Think again, young lady,” Mom says, with just a hint of satisfaction in her voice. “We’re going to make Sean’s room into the nursery, and that only leaves one place left.”

“Forget it,” I say. “I’ll sleep in the family room.”

“No, you will not.” Dad takes a sip of his shake. “There is only a limited amount of common space in this house. We’re not going to have your games and computer paraphernalia strewn everywhere. I’m sorry, but we’re all going to have to make some sacrifices.”

“Fine, then.” My shoulders slump in defeat. “I’ll share my room with the baby.”

“Aw, sweetheart.” Mom gives me a sympathetic look. “That’s just not going to work. You wouldn’t get any sleep.”

“I don’t care. I’d rather not sleep than share a room with her.”

“This is not up for debate,” Dad says. “The decision’s been made. We knew you two weren’t going to be happy about it, but that’s life. I shared a bedroom with three of my brothers growing up. You should consider yourself lucky.”

“Lucky?” Cathy huffs. “Right. I’m so sure. Why can’t we just get rid of all the stupid pets? Then we’d have more money and we could move to a bigger house.”

My stomach drops, but I don’t say anything. Cathy’ll just rail into me. Instead, I give Bronson a little consoling cuddle with my feet.

“We’re not getting rid of the animals, Cathy.” Mom stares at her in disbelief. “Honestly. The amount of money we would save casting out our little furry friends here”— Mom scoops up one of the kittens and works his paws like he’s a marionette —“wouldn’t even come close to offsetting the cost of a new home.”

“Whatever.” Cathy turns away so she doesn’t have to look at the adorable kitty puppet.

“What about building an extension?” I say. “To add another room. That’d be cheaper than buying a brand-new house.”

“We already looked into it.” Dad pulls the napkin from his collar. “It’s still too much. It would cost twenty to thirty thousand dollars. And that’s if a contractor could stay on budget. I’m sorry, but this is our only option.”

“And who knows?” Mom adds. “You might even enjoy it after a while. I mean, you shared my womb, right? Now you’ll share a room.” She laughs like this is the funniest thing in the world. “Who knows, maybe this is the thing that brings you two closer together.”

“What about Uncle Doug?” I say, the tightness in my chest getting even tighter. “He’s rich. Maybe he can lend us the money to build an extension.”

“Your uncle Doug is not rich,” Mom says. “He’s got some money, yes, but he’s got his . . . habits, and he needs all the money he makes to live on. I don’t understand why you kids are trying to turn this into something bad. This is very exciting news. Sure, we’re all going to have to pitch in a little, but this is a miracle from God we’re talking about here. Dr. Halpern said I’m the first patient he’s ever had get pregnant after having her tubes tied. We should be celebrating. This baby obviously wants to be born into our family. There’s going to be another Hance in this world.” Mom grabs her empty shake glass and hoists it in the air. “Let’s have a toast. To the baby.”

Dad is the first to pick up his glass. I raise mine because you can’t not toast to a baby. And Cathy is the last one to lift her untouched shake, hefting it like it weighs a thousand pounds.

My sister and I glare at each other across the table. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so angry before. And believe me, I’ve seen her royally pissed. I’m not sure if it’s directed at me or if it’s just an overall loathing of the world in general.