I walked down the hallway and opened the guest-room door.

Everyone at the table turned to look. Della stood and followed me, and after a moment, so did the others, wine glasses in hand, curious. Daniel came last.

The guest room looked like a baby store had exploded in it. The portable crib, assembled. The life-size baby doll lying on the changing pad. A stack of newborn diapers. A mountain of tiny folded and unfolded clothes. Two overflowing laundry baskets. A bottle, a can of formula, and a bottle-warmer on the dresser. And two chairs, side by side, with a sheet draped over them.

I picked up my clipboard.

“Welcome, everyone,” I said, “to our family competition. Welcome to Fatherhood!”

Nathan laughed. “Are we playing?”

“Only Daniel.”

My husband stared at the room. Then he stared at me. His face went red.

“You want to embarrass me in front of my brothers?”

“No,” I said. “You’ve spent months proving to everyone how successful you are. Tonight, I’d like you to prove something to me.”

“Which is?”

“That I can depend on you as our child’s father.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Then don’t participate.”

“Good,” he snapped. He turned toward the door.

“But understand something,” I said.

He stopped. The room went completely silent.

“If you can’t show me you’re willing to take responsibility,” I said, “I’ll pack my things and stay with Della. I’m not raising our baby alone while pretending I have a partner.”

Daniel turned around slowly. His face had changed. The red was gone. He looked pale.

“You’re threatening to leave me?”

“I’m telling you what I can no longer live with.”

Della stepped up beside me. “My door is open to her,” she said quietly. “And to my granddaughter.”

Michael set his wine glass down on the dresser. “Daniel. What’s going on?”

“She’s exaggerating!”

“Am I?” I asked. “Tell them, Daniel. Tell them who cooks. Who cleans. Who goes to the prenatal classes. Who set up the nursery. Who prepares everything for the baby.”

Daniel looked at his brothers. Then at their wives. Then at the floor.

He said nothing.

Della folded her arms. “You told us household work was easy, son. Surely a little competition won’t frighten you.”

For a long moment, Daniel didn’t move. I could see him weighing it. His pride on one side. Me, his mother, and his unborn daughter on the other.

Finally, he exhaled.

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”

I looked down at my clipboard and smiled.

“Wonderful,” I said. “Round one.”

I picked up the doll and placed her in Daniel’s arms. She was surprisingly heavy, weighted to feel like a real seven-pound newborn. Daniel held her out from his body like she was a bag of groceries.

“Congratulations,” I said. “Your baby needs a diaper change.”

He looked at the doll. Then at the changing pad. “Seriously? That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

He laid her down, grabbed a diaper, and started.

Thirty seconds later, Michael burst out laughing.

“Buddy,” he said. “That’s backward.”

Daniel glared at him. “I know!”

“Then why are the tabs underneath her?”

“I’M FIXING IT!”

Michael stepped forward. “Here, let me just…”

“Nope,” I said, holding up my hand. “He said he could handle everything himself.”

Michael raised his hands and stepped back. Rachel was biting her lip to keep from laughing.

Daniel flipped the diaper around. He got one tab fastened. The other one stuck to his thumb. He peeled it off, and it stuck to the doll’s leg. He peeled that off, and the whole tab tore.

“These things are defective,” he muttered.

“Grab another one,” Claire said helpfully.

On the third diaper, he finally got it on. Crooked, too loose on one side, but on.

“Done,” he said, stepping back and wiping his forehead.

“Excellent.” I checked something off my clipboard. “Now prepare a bottle, fold those baby clothes, and sort the laundry.”

He stared at me. “All at once?”

“You’re a capable man.”

He picked up the bottle and stared at the formula can. He set it down and grabbed a handful of tiny clothes from the basket. Onesies. Sleepers. Little knit hats. And socks. Dozens of tiny socks, each smaller than his thumb.

“Why are there so many socks?” he asked.

“Babies have feet,” I said.

Nathan nearly choked on his wine.

Daniel started trying to match the socks into pairs. White with white. Pink with pink. He held up a single blue one. “Where’s the other blue one?”

Claire pointed at him. “Your pocket.”

He looked down. A tiny blue sock was hanging out of the front pocket of his jeans. He pulled it out. Two more came with it, a white one and a yellow one.

“How did those get there?”

“Excellent question,” I said. “Now your bottle.”

He picked up the formula can again and turned it around, searching for instructions. “Can somebody help me with this?”

I tilted my head. I kept my voice soft.

“You’re not helpless, Daniel,” I said. “You haven’t lost your arms.”