“Touchdown!” I shrieked jumping up off the couch. “Oh yeah!” I slapped hands with my fellow Jets fan neighbors.
“That was a great pass,” John, our next door neighbor said pointing at the TV.
“Watch this replay!”
“Tay, throw me some doritios,”
“Sure man.” I tossed the bag him.
“Daddy?”
I turned my head to the left and found my daughter standing next to my face, she was in her nightgown and was holding her favorite stuffed toy, Mr. Spot. She rubbed her sleepy eyes with her tiny fist. “Why are you yelling?”
I smiled sympathetically. “Aw I’m sorry kiddo, did we wake you up?”
“Taylor!” Ken yelled, he grabbed my arm and pointed at the screen. “Fumble!” He shouted.
My eyes grew wide as a football player fumbled and missed a great pass, costing him from scoring. “No!” I yelled pointing at the TV with both arms. “Son of a bi-” I stopped short and threw my head back. I kicked my foot on the ground. “Damnit,” I mumbled. There were curses and groans all around the room.
“Daddy?” Zoë piped up from next to my head. My eyes grew wide as I remembered she was there.
“Come here,” I said pulling her into my lap. She giggled and snuggled deep into my chest, hugging the giraffe to her own body tightly. I wrapped my arms around her small body and held her firmly.
“Which color are we rooting for, Daddy?” She asked looking up at me.
“Green and white,” I responded. I kissed her nose. “Just like always. The yellow ones are the bad guys.”
John laughed but quickly covered his mouth. “Definitely the bad guys,” he assured my daughter.
“Did they get the kick before that fumble?” I asked, referring to the bad pass from before. John nodded.
“Go!” Eddie shouted at the screen, jumping up off the chair. The rest of the guys followed but I remained seated but shouting all the same.
“Interception!” Jim screamed flopping back into the chair.
“Come on you sons of bitches,” I groaned.
Zoë looked up at me and put her hand over my mouth. “Daddy said a bad word,” she scolded.
“Uh-oh,” I said through her little hand. “Better get the soap,” I joked.
“I’m going to tell Mommy on you,” she taunted taking her hand down from my mouth.
“Mommy!” I yelled towards the kitchen. “Zoë’s making fun of meeeee”
“No!” Zoë shot back. She crossed her arms over her chest and pouted. “I am not!”
I touched her shoulder with my finger, stroking it lightly. She shrugged me away. “Aw, kiddo, come on. I was just teasing you.”
“RUN!” Jim cried. Once again everyone was out of their seats urging the players to score a touchdown.
“Score!” I shouted. “Come on you lazy bums! Score!” There were cheers as three points were added onto the Jets’ score. “Yeah!” I exclaimed I threw my hand in the air, “yeah!”
“How’s the game boys?” My wife asked, coming into the room. “I made you some hors d’oeuvres.” She was holding a plate of pigs in a blanket, chicken fingers, mozzarella sticks, and her famous potato skins.
“Thanks, babe!” I said taking the heavy plate from her hands and kissing her cheek lightly. “You know I love you.” I put the tray on the table and immediately the guys all rushed for the food.
“Thank you, Clare,” John gushed. “You always know how to throw a party right.”
“Thank you, John,” Clare said with a huge smile. She put her hand on her belly and sat down carefully in the armchair.
“Mrs. Hanson’s famous potato skins,” Eddie exclaimed grabbing one of the tray. “You spoil us, Clare.”
My wife smiled but I could tell it was a forced one. She was holding on to her stomach tightly. “Are you OK, baby?” I mouthed at her so Zoë wouldn’t get alarmed.
“Yeah, don’t worry about me,” she said. “I’m fine.” She directed her attention towards the TV set and made a face. “I see the 49-ers are winning,” she said.
“One more touchdown and we’re tied,” I explained. “If these lazy bums could move a little faster.”
“A field goal would win us the game,” Jim mumbled at the television. “Get a field goal will ya!”
Zoë leaned her head back into my chest. “I don’t understand,” she sighed.
“I’ll be right back,” Clare said, standing up quickly. I averted my attention towards her. She smiled reassuringly and leaned over to my ear. “I’m fine, honey, don’t worry.” She kissed my earlobe. “I just feel a little tight right now and want to move.”
I nodded. “OK.”
“Daddy.”
“What, Zoë?”
My daughter shrugged and reached her hand up behind me, landing it on my cheek. “Can I have a chicken finger?”
I looked at my watch and then made sure Clare had left the room already. “Eh, why not.” John handed one to my daughter and she accepted it graciously. “What do we say?” I quizzed her.
“Thank you John,” she said her mouth full of chicken. At least she got one manner out of the two right.
“Holy,” George exclaimed. He started to rise out of the chair. My eyes grew wide as I watched one of the players running down the field, no one between him and the ball. “He’s going to score! Go!!!”
We were all starting to rise out of our chairs. I grabbed Zoë and stood up too, waiting in anticipation to see if we were going to tie the game.
“Taylor?” Clare touched my arm softly. She had not be gone for more than thirty seconds.
“What?” I asked her, not turning around to see what she wanted. Zoë hang loosely at my side, giggling at her silly father’s childish actions.
“Taylor?” Clare said, a little louder this time so she could be heard over the random yelling at our TV set.
Cheers erupted throughout the room as the player scored a touchdown. I slapped a high five with John. “One more point and we win the game!” I yelled bouncing Zoë at my side. “We’re going into overtime! This has got to be the best game ever!” I sat down on the couch again. Zoë crawled back into my lap. I turned to Clare, leaned up, and kissed her pale cheek. “We’re going to win!” I exclaimed as I pulled away. My eyes narrowed when I noticed that her smile was once again forced. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
She grabbed onto her stomach and smiled for real this time, it was a light smile and there was something behind it. Her face faltered after a second, but her eyes were ecstatic and excited. “Taylor, my water just broke.”