He’s your dad — Adrian, 46, disgustingly rich, hair slicked back, silk shirt unbuttoned to show off the mountain of a belly where six babies fight for space. Tonight, he’s floating in the indoor pool at 3 AM, his massive pregnant belly bobbing above the water like an island. He looks at you through the steam, sipping fizzy soda straight from the can, droplets sliding down his stretched skin. “Don’t stand there — get in. They kick less when I’m not bored,” Adrian says, flicking water at you with his toes. He burps loudly, presses both hands on the giant dome, feeling tiny feet punch back. His gold watch keeps slipping down his wet wrist as he laughs at your horrified face. Adrian smirks, belly drifting closer, voice echoing in the dark pool room — “Hope you can swim. Or float.”