Something was up with Mom.

Mike had given it a lot of thought since the New Year's party, and he'd decided that maybe she needed an earlier bedtime. Because Mom was always tired these days. She fell asleep reading to him at night, and sometimes, she conked out right on the couch, in the middle of the day.

"That's nothing," his friend Maddy told him. "My dad naps on the couch every weekend watching football on TV."

But Mom didn't watch football. And it wasn't just the sleeping, though that was the main thing. She also didn't eat breakfast anymore, which worried Mike.

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, Mom," he reminded her, when Dad made extra good oatmeal with honey and cinnamon and raisins before school.

"That's true, baby," she agreed. "Thank you for reminding me." But she still ignored her own oatmeal, maybe because Dad had made hers super plain and boring without anything but almond milk. "No thank you," she said to Mike, when he offered her some of his raisins. And then, "I'm sorry," she whispered to Dad, pushing away her bowl.

"Ah," Maddy said at school. "She's on a diet, then. Moms get super cranky when they're hungry."

"I don't think she's on a diet," Mike hedged, because it had seemed to him like Mom had wanted to eat the oatmeal, but just couldn't.

"Of course she couldn't," Maddy said breezily. "Oatmeal isn't Whole 30 compliant."

Isn't what? It didn't matter. Mike had decided Maddy didn't know anything.

Finally, at the end of January, Mom and Dad showed mercy. They sat him down in the living room after dinner, and Mom said, "We have something we want to tell you."

Mike knew Dad thought Mom worked too hard, and Mike was starting to agree. Maybe after all her napping, she realized she needed a break. Maybe they'd get to go on another vacation. "Are we going to Baja again?"

But Dad said, no, that wasn't it. Mom said, "I think maybe you've noticed how I haven't been feeling all that great lately?"

And suddenly…duh! Why hadn't Mike realized? Mom had been tired and had no appetite because she was sick! He felt his tummy kind of clinch, like he was taking a dive on a roller coaster.

He turned to face her, wiggling out of her lap. He didn't want Mom's cuddles if this was something bad. Mike wanted to be the one to comfort her. But Mom said, "I'm fine, Mike. I'm going to be perfectly fine, but I don't feel too well right now because, uh, I'm going to have a baby."

Mike just stared at her, not really understanding. Because this was the weirdest thing she could possibly say. Mom had already told him: she didn't want any more babies. And she'd said it in a way that made Mike sure this was up to her and no one else, no argument, no opinions welcome. Certainly, Jacob's opinion on the subject hadn't been welcome. Mike remembered.

"Why?" he said. Sometimes, when things didn't compute, you just needed more information. Maybe Mike didn't have enough variables yet to solve this equation.

But Mom looked surprised by this question, then embarrassed. She mumbled something about loving Dad. This made Dad give her one of his super intense looks that had her face getting all red. Mike wasn't exactly certain what it was about these looks that made him feel squirmy, like he didn't want to be caught in the middle, but they did.

"No, I mean, why now, when you told me definitely no before." He turned and explained it all to Dad, about Mom's 'no more babies after Mike' policy.

Mom just said, "I can't believe you remember that, Mike," but Dad said, "The thing is, there are right times for people to have babies, and wrong times. Before, when I wasn't back yet, wasn't the right time."

This made sense to Mike. But it also meant something else. "Do you want a baby now, too?" he asked Dad.

Dad did. He really, really did.

"Because then you'll be this baby's dad?" Mike's tummy was feeling odd again, like that roller coaster had dipped slowly back down again for another whirl around the tracks.

"Yes, just like I'm your dad," Dad said. He said this in a very firm way, like maybe he wanted to stop that roller coaster. But he couldn't. Mike couldn't either.

"But then why do you need another baby when you just got me?" His tummy did its flip, and he felt his throat tighten up all painfully.

Mom tried to argue about this but Mike didn't even hear her. He looked at Dad, who looked back at him without blinking, his face set all serious. He reached for Mike. "You are the most incredible thing that has ever happened to me," he said. "I wake up every day scarcely believing I actually get to be your dad. It feels like the most wonderful dream, one I get to have again every night."

Mike felt some of the awful tightness recede from his throat. He tried to be brave, and look Dad right back in the eye, because he was still talking to him.

"And I just keep thinking, if Mike is this amazing, this smart and this special, probably his brother or his sister will be…I don't know…at least half as good?"

Mike felt himself begin to smile despite himself, because silly Dad…he wasn't calculating the odds correctly. This new baby would be just as good as Mike, because it had the same mom and dad, right? "Dad! C'mon. At least half as good, but probably more than that. Probably really good I think!"

Dad agreed, and when Mike turned to see if Mom agreed, too, he saw that…she was crying. Kind of as if she'd cried the tears Mike had decided to swallow earlier. "Don't cry, Mom," he told her. "It's going to be a great baby!"

Mom just stared at them, so Dad kissed her, right there on the couch, right in front of Mike. "Eww!" he cried, but mostly he was still laughing as Dad scooped him up and squished him between them.

Mom's stomach got bigger. No, Mike corrected himself, her uterus got bigger, or at least, the baby got bigger inside it. Mike wasn't totally sure which. But the really great baby was definitely in there.

For a while, he'd been skeptical. Mom hadn't looked any different, other than not eating anything. Which made him wonder: how had the baby gotten in there in the first place? Dad said something about DNA, which didn't seem to answer the question, as far as Mike was concerned. Maddy said she knew, and would tell Mike but only if he gave her his cookie from his lunch every day for a week. Honestly, that trade didn't really seem worth it, especially since Mike knew about Google now.

At Dr. Kate's office, Ann asked Mike to draw a picture of his family. "Again?" he complained. "It's always my family." He wanted to draw DNA strands. They were cool…kind of geometric. He'd looked them up on Google but the article accompanying the illustrations hadn't talked about babies and uteruses.

But Ann said simply, "Your family is who we're here to talk about," and Mike supposed this was true. He drew Dad and Mom and himself. Then, after thinking carefully about how to go about it, he drew another, smaller person beside him, but only in pencil. Only an outline.

"Because he's not really here yet, not all the way," Mike explained. The baby was what Ann always called conceptual.

"But he will be here," Ann pointed out. "Before you know it. And he might be a she."

Mike hadn't considered this possibility. He wanted a brother.

Ann picked up a piece of paper and started her own drawing. She just kind of doodled, drawing swirls and rainbows. Mike didn't know why he wasn't allowed to do that. She said, "Babies take a lot of attention, when they arrive. Boy babies and girl babies."

Mike knew this. Mom had said.

"What do you think it'll be like, when he is here?" Ann said.

Mike didn't really like to wonder that. Mom had said that parents love all their children equally, and it had been easy to do the math. The way Mike saw it, this meant Mike was about to get gypped out of half the love he normally got, once the new baby took his share. Actually, he almost felt sorry for the baby: at least Mike had enjoyed 100 percent love for seven years. This new kid would have to start at 50 percent.

He explained all this to Ann, but even though he had the numbers right, she said, "Oh no, Mike. That's not how it works. You'll still get 100 percent, and the new baby will get 100 percent, too." But Ann was mistaken, because there was no such thing as 200 percent. It was like when Mike's soccer coach told them to 'give 110 percent on the pitch'. Mike used to raise his hand to remind him this was not mathematically possible, until finally Coach just started saying, 'I know, I know, Mike,' before he could be called on. He wondered whether he should bother to correct Ann, and then decided to just shrug and say, "Oh."

Toward the end of summer, Mom's belly got so big, she needed Mike to yank her by the hands to stand back up again after taking a break on the couch. It was crazy. She was hot all the time, she said, and Mike believed her: she looked sweaty even while inside, with their air conditioning turned on high.

Mike wondered: what if the baby had become too big to even be in there anymore? Because it seemed that way. And he knew Mom was a doctor, but had she really thought this through? She'd explained how the baby would come out (Mike had thought he might faint), but then kept telling Dad she didn't want any medicine when it was time. Not any! Mike wanted medicine even when his throat ached just a little.

It was impossible to cuddle up with Mom now. She was too big, her stomach always in the way, and even when she wanted Mike close, after no time at all, she'd started to say, "Okay, no more touching," because she'd gotten too hot and sticky. Mike decided moms didn't really need nine months to have babies; eight months would probably be enough, and no one would get snapped at when they left their LEGOs on the floor or dirty dishes in the sink.

Finally, finally, finally, Uncle Lincoln arrived because it was Time. That's how Mike thought of it…time with a capital T, a momentous occasion. Mike was already in bed when Mom started having the pain that meant the baby was ready to come, but he heard everything, because Mom wasn't very quiet and neither was Dad, begging her to go to the hospital.

When they finally left, Uncle Linc popped his head into Mike's room. He'd known Mike hadn't been asleep, even if he'd fooled Mom and Dad. "Don't worry, kid," he told him. "Go to sleep, and when you wake up, I bet you have a baby brother or sister. Imagine that."

Mike tried to imagine it, closing his eyes in bed and picturing a new baby, right here in their house. He'd tried to imagine this for months, of course, but it seemed every bit as fantastical now, even with the arrival so close. Mike just couldn't decide what his baby—that's how Mike thought of it, his baby—would look like. Would he have brown hair like Mike? Blue eyes? Green eyes? Would he cry a lot? Dylan said his baby cousin cried all the stinking time. And…he wouldn't be a girl, would he? Surely not.

But when Mike woke up in the morning and ran downstairs to where Uncle Linc stood swearing at the fancy coffee machine he could never figure out, no matter how many times he visited, he told him, "Uh, no baby yet, I guess."

Oh. "What does Dad say?" Mike wanted to know. "Will it be soon?"

Uncle Lincoln frowned. "He's not picking up his phone right now," he admitted. "Probably some dumb hospital regulation or something. He'll call soon."

But at almost-lunch, Dad hadn't called yet. Uncle Linc called the hospital, going into Dad's office so Mike couldn't hear. But Mike stood by the door anyway, trying his best. Uncle Linc was transferred between departments a lot, and he got kind of grumpy with a few of the people he talked to, and then at one point he said a bad word to someone, but then finally he must have found the right doctor or nurse or someone to ask about Mom, because he got really quiet. Then he said, 'Uh huh, uh huh, okay, uh huh,' and then hung up.

But he didn't come out of the office. After waiting for what Mike thought was long enough, he pushed open the office door and peeked inside. Uncle Lincoln stood staring at the wall, his phone kind of forgotten-looking in his hand. "Uncle Linc? What did they say? Is it a new brother?"

He turned to look at Mike with a very weird look on his face. It was sort of the look Dakota had gotten right before she threw up once in the school cafeteria. Uncle Linc didn't puke, but he still looked sick as he said, "Uh, I'm not sure yet. I think I'll go and check in with them, okay? I was going to call Heather."

They both looked down at the phone hanging from Uncle Linc's limp fingers. "But everything is okay, right?" Mike asked. "With Mom and the baby?"

"I'm sure it is," Uncle Linc said, but he looked sick again, or like maybe he'd just swallowed something painful, like glass. He tried again, with a bit of a smile this time. "Yeah, bud. I'm sure it is."

Heather came over and picked Mike up, and in the car with Dylan talking a mile a minute and the radio playing, Mike kind of forgot about being worried about Mom. Uncle Linc said she was okay, and Mike had never known him to say anything but the truth. Too much of the truth, Mom said sometimes.

He remembered again a few times that afternoon, but in kind of an excited way, because surely, by the time he got home this evening, the baby would be born and he'd get to go see him like Dad had promised, in the hospital. But when Heather pulled up at the house, it was empty. Uncle Lincoln was at the hospital, but he hadn't invited Mike.

"Let me just check in," Heather said cheerfully, digging her phone out of her purse, but just like Uncle Linc earlier in the office, she stepped out of the car first, to talk in private.

When she returned, she said, "Your dad is coming, Mike, but I'll just hang with you here until he arrives, alright? We'll get dinner started." She didn't quite look at Mike as she said this, which was strange.

Dylan was fine with this—Mike had the better LEGO collection—but Mike felt something kind of scary begin to edge its way into his day. It wasn't fear, exactly, and only sort of worry, but it crept up, never-the-less, like a shadow. "Why can't you just drop me off at the hospital?" he asked Heather. He tried not to let his voice crack, but now that he was thinking about this, he realized he really, really wanted his mom.

Heather didn't quite look at him, peering into their cupboards for inspiration for dinner. "Hmm?" she said. "Because your dad is coming to you, sweetie."

"But I want my mom," Mike clarified. That shadowy feeling completely covered him now, like a dark blanket. It echoed one thought, over and over: mom, mom, mom.

Heather said, "How about spaghetti?" But after pulling out the pasta, she disappeared into the bathroom for a long time, leaving Mike alone.

Finally, Dad and Uncle Linc pulled up at the house, and after hugging Dad tightly, Heather hurried off with Dylan. Uncle Linc tried to make Dad a plate of spaghetti, but Dad muttered, "I couldn't possibly." He bent down to Mike, and for the first time since walking in, he smiled. The smile looked a little forced around the edges, like Dad's very first smiles to Mike, when he'd been so unsure and they'd both been tip-toeing around one another, and this made no sense to Mike, but any sort of smiling at all did make him feel a bit better. "Have you heard, Mike?" Dad said, with another of his strange smiles. "You have a new baby brother."

"Yes! A boy!" For a second, the worry went away and happiness spilled over. A boy was exactly what Mike wanted. Dad had pictures on his phone, and oh! Wow. The new baby didn't really look like Mike—more like Dad—but he was cute, that was for sure. He wore a little hat on his head and everything.

Then Mike looked from the phone to Dad's face, still kind of tinged with something like stress, and wondered…just how much work was it, watching Mom have a baby? Because Dad looked…he looked…exhausted, Mike decided. But that wasn't quite the right word. Dead on his feet, his brain supplied. Yes, that was it.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to get back home," Dad said. "But here's the thing. Your mom is still in the hospital and she's going to be there for a little while longer."

The fear returned with a vengeance. Mike had thought it was kind of gone, after seeing those cute pictures, but no. "Is Mom alright?"

Another odd smile. "She will be."

Because Dad seemed to be trying so hard to be cheerful, Mike tried, too. He said 'yes' when Dad asked if he wanted to story before bed, even though he could read to himself if Dad was tired. It felt good to settle into bed with Dad next to him, to lay his head on his shoulder to see the pictures, to hear his voice as he read a Star Wars book Mike knew by heart.

"When is the baby going to be home with us?" Mike asked, when Dad had paused between chapters, kind of not seeing the page.

He had to stir himself back awake, sort of, even though his eyes hadn't closed. "Soon. He'll come home with Mom, I think."

Mike wondered about that, about when Mom would be home. He had follow-up questions, but Dad looked so worn out, he let them die on his tongue. The next time Dad stopped reading midway through the page, Mike noticed his eyes had closed. Mike lowered the book from his hands and set it on the bedside table. Then he turned out his light, and through all this, Dad didn't even stir. So Mike just kind of wiggled up against him and closed his eyes too. If he couldn't be with Mom, Mike felt a little bit better where he could hear Dad's breathing, in and out, and listen to the bump-bump-bump of his heart.

But when Mike woke up the next morning, Dad wasn't there again. Uncle Linc said, "Looks like it's you and me today, kid," leaving it to Mike to fill in the blanks. Mom wasn't back with the baby yet, then. Dad was with them, but Mike didn't get to be. Another fierce tug of longing for Mom consumed him, swallowing him whole.

Midway through the afternoon, Uncle Linc left him too, to go back to the hospital. Heather came back over, but only for a while…then Maddy's mom came and he went over to her house for dinner. They were having tacos and Maddy's mom made really good ones, but Mike didn't want to be there. He didn't understand: why did everyone else get to take turns at the hospital, but not Mike? Did they think he was a little kid? That he couldn't stay quiet enough? What was it?

Another night with Uncle Lincoln.

And mostly, Uncle Linc seemed lost in his own thoughts. He didn't ignore Mike, nothing like that, but he didn't get down on the floor with him and play LEGOs or joke with him about movies and stuff like he usually did. He did a lot of sightless staring out the window, like Dad had done with the book. Why was he still here? Why wasn't Mike with Mom?

Uncle Linc got back on the phone with Dad after Mike's bedtime. Mike knew it was Dad he talked to, because Uncle Linc said 'Mike' a lot, and he was the only one who called Dad and Mike the same name sometimes. They were waiting for something, for something to be decided or determined and Mike didn't know what and he didn't like not knowing things. He curled himself into a tight little ball in his bed and tried to pretend Dad was here with him again.

The next time he woke up, it wasn't even light yet. Mike lay in bed, trying to decide if it was still night or not—sometimes you could tell by the sounds outside, or the shade of the darkness, light gray or pitch black—and then he heard Uncle Linc talking again, on the phone. Mike realized; that was what had woken him. The phone ringing.

He heard Uncle Lincoln say, "Thank God," then again, but with a bad swear word Mike wasn't allowed to repeat. "Thank you f-word-ing God." Mike wondered if this was a very nice way to thank a deity, actually, but for the first time in days, Uncle Lincoln sounded truly relieved and happy, so he slid out of bed and stood in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs. When Uncle Linc turned and saw him there, he wasn't even mad.

"Come here, bud," he said, in a tone of voice almost like a cry. "Just…c'mere." He squeezed Mike really tightly and finally said the words Mike wanted to hear. "Later, let's go see your mom today, alright? Let's go meet that little sh—trouble maker—of a brother."

"Alright!" Mike said. He didn't even care if Uncle Linc had almost sweared again. He pumped his fist in the air and Uncle Lincoln laughed, but the laugh was really rough and kind of loud and when Mike pulled back, he saw that he'd leaked tears or snot or something all over his Rogue One pajama shirt. Eww.

He had to wait until after lunch, which seemed like an eternity, but finally, Uncle Lincoln said, "We have the green light," and they got in the car to go see Mom and the baby.

The baby's name was Henry, Uncle Linc said, and because this seemed like just one more detail no one had told him, Mike answered kind of grumpily, "I wish I'd known earlier." If he'd known, he would have made baby Henry a special card or a welcome sign or something.

But Uncle Lincoln said, "You and me both," which told Mike that he hadn't known the baby's name either, not until just today.

At the hospital, Uncle Linc knew right where to go, even though the place was huge and all the hallways had the same white linoleum floors and beige walls. But once they were on the right floor, Mike didn't have to be told the room number. He could hear Mom's voice, and he began to run.

"Hey, slow down," Uncle Linc called, but only half-heartedly.

Mike meant to say hi to Mom first, but once he'd burst into the room, he just couldn't help himself: he ran straight to the baby. "He's so little," he cried, looking down into the clear plastic bassinet. He reached down and touched baby Henry's hand experimentally. His brother grasped his finger—tightly, too!—and Mike thought he might positively burst with excitement. "I think he knows me already!"

Mom said, "Mike, come here, baby," and then he remembered, in one sudden, fierce wave, how much he'd missed her and had wanted her. He bounded back to her, getting a good running start to leap onto her bed. Just before he could land, however, Uncle Linc stopped him—just like that, like he hardly had to try—with one arm.

"Gentle!" Dad told him, at the same instant.

"Why? Mom's fine, right Mom?" Because Mike could see now that he'd been worried for nothing. Here was Mom, right in front of him, sitting up and smiling and looking exactly Mom-like.

"Well, I am pretty sore," she admitted. "Gentle would be nice."

"Did you really have surgery?" Mike asked. "Like where they cut open your stomach and everything?" It sounded like something out of one of those movies Maddy loved to watch. Mom said yes, and that she had the scar to prove it. "Eww," Mike said again, because even the thought of it made him gag. But also…cool.

Uncle Linc got to hold baby Henry next, and the adults talked for a little while, and then a crabby-looking nurse told them they all had to leave to let Mom sleep. Mike thought this was funny: it was the middle of the day. But Dad said she was tired still, and if Mike wanted to go get ice cream with Uncle Linc at the cafeteria downstairs, he'd be right behind him.

Mike climbed back up on Mom's bed more carefully this time, and she kissed him goodbye and said I'll see you soon, and he believed her, he did, but he still turned and looked back at her one more time before walking out. It was stupid, he knew, but he just needed to make sure: yep, Mom was just fine, laying back on her pillow with Dad and baby Henry next to her, still smiling at Mike.

"See you soon," Mike called back to her.