13+87=100

⸻

Taylor stood barefoot in the bathroom, hands trembling as she stared down at the tiny plastic stick resting on the marble counter. Two pink lines. Clear. Bold. Unmistakable.

Her breath caught in her throat. A nervous laugh escaped her lips before tears filled her eyes. She wasn't scared, not exactly. She was overwhelmed, surprised, but also... glowing from the inside out. She pressed a hand to her stomach.

"Hi, baby," she whispered.

Downstairs, Travis was humming something off-key while stirring eggs on the stove. Taylor padded down the hallway, pregnancy test clutched in hand.

"Travis?" Her voice was soft, hesitant.

He turned immediately, spatula in hand, grinning. "Morning, babe. Want eggs?"

She shook her head, her throat tight with emotion. "I... I think I'm pregnant."

The smile slipped. His brows knit in confusion for half a second before realization struck. "Wait. What?" His eyes dropped to the test in her hand. "You—wait, are you serious?"

She nodded, and before she could say anything else, Travis had crossed the room and scooped her into his arms, laughing breathlessly, spinning her in a circle.

"You're pregnant. Holy sh—oh my God, you're pregnant."

Tears streamed down both of their faces as they clung to each other in the kitchen.

⸻

From that moment on, Travis turned into a full-on Dadzilla. Not even five minutes after the excitement settled, he took her plate from her, ordered her to sit down, and proceeded to deliver the eggs and toast to her like a five-star waiter.

By week six, Travis was scolding her for reaching for a wine glass on the top shelf.

"You're not supposed to stretch too much. What if you pull something?"

"Travis," she said gently, "I'm six weeks, not six months."

Didn't matter. He started googling prenatal yoga instructors, hired a private chef to meal-prep nutritious pregnancy-safe dishes, and stocked up on a mountain of pillows to make sure Taylor slept on her side.

By ten weeks, he had a ban on stairs unless he was physically behind her. She wasn't allowed to carry anything heavier than a paperback book.

"I can carry a bag of groceries, you know."

"Nope," he said, lifting them for her. "You're literally a national treasure carrying our child. You're not lifting anything more than a lyric notebook."

⸻

By five months, Taylor had popped. Her growing bump made it impossible to hide from anyone especially the press but more importantly, the Kelces.

Jason, Kylie, their kids, Donna and Ed all made the trip to Kansas City to visit for the weekend. Kylie brought a bag of maternity clothes. Jason brought jokes.

They arrived Friday night, and Travis fussed over her so much that Kylie gave him a look.

"Travis," Kylie said dryly, "she's pregnant, not broken."

"She's carrying my kids," he retorted.

That night, everyone stayed over.

Later that day, Taylor was downstairs by herself. She shuffled into the kitchen wearing one of Travis's hoodies and a pair of leggings that clung lovingly to her bump. She was craving watermelon cold, juicy, crisp watermelon and she knew there was a container in the top part of the fridge.