My burnt tongue feels like a rebuke, insult added to injury, and I finally explode.

“This is what happens when you have kids! They rule your life and take all the oxygen in the room. You breathe for them when they’re little and when they’re older, they think they’re entitled to all the air.” I huff, trying to drain off the anger, wishing I could stop my tirade, unable to control it. “I’m so damn close. They’re all in college now and I can breathe again. Freedom tastes good.”

Freedom tastes like you, I nearly say.

And then our eyes meet.

Chloe looks stricken.

What the hell did I say that’s so wrong?

Chloe

Okay.

Okay.

There aren’t that many times in my life anymore when I just don’t know what I think.

But this is one of those times.

A kid falls into a gorilla habitat at the Cincinnati Zoo, and suddenly everyone in the country has an opinion on the parenting skills in that family. Sure, it looks bad, but what do I know? I’ve never been responsible for a bunch of active kids at a zoo. Am I entitled to judge?

So when Nick’s daughter calls looking for him, frantic with worry, and he yells at her, is that bad? He’s her only real parent, her only security, right?

But what he’s saying about kids ruling your life, and having no freedom—well, that’s maybe my biggest fear right now. The fear I can’t admit to anyone. I think and pray that the best part of my life will begin when the baby comes, but what if it’s too much? I’ve never had to be utterly responsible for another human being before.

A single parent.

What if I am overwhelmed?

Even Nick appears to be overwhelmed right now, and he’s been doing it—being a single parent—for more than fifteen years.

What if, someday when my child is at college, I am having the most romantic night of my entire life, and my cell phone starts ringing and ringing? Will I feel needed and loved, or will I feel harassed beyond enduring?

Moot point. I just had the most romantic night of my life. Nothing will ever top last night.

Except this morning, of course.

Usually the first time is a little bit awkward, right? Exciting, sure, and new, and fun (usually). But neither of you knows where to touch, or when, or how, or for how long. There’s no choreography.

That’s not how it felt with Nick.

It just felt right.

And that’s terrifying.

I need to talk to Jemma.

You see? I just don’t know what I think.

“Chloe. Come here,” Nick says. He puts down his coffee and opens his arms. “Looks like second runner-up for Father of the Year again. Third if Amelie gets to vote too. Damn.”

“Maybe you should call her back?” I offer tentatively.

“And what does she take away from that? That there are no boundaries? The house was not burning down, no one was hurt or missing or even upset. Once she reached me the first time, she knew I was fine. For her to call your phone was WAY out of line. She was playing a game.”

“You told me the girls are used to being first in your life. That story about dressing up in your date’s lingerie?”

“Yes, but they were ten. It’s not okay anymore. And if they start thinking they rank above you, we will have a big problem. Not unlike pack animals.” He smiles, his cheek against my hair. “Or toddlers.”

“In less than two years, I’ll have one of those,” I whisper.

“And then you will begin to understand.”

He sits on the bed, pulling me down with him. We settle into spoons and he pulls the sheet over us.

“Getting this baby feels like when you go on a trip to a country you’ve always wanted to visit, but you’ve never been there before.” I try to explain this. “It’s a completely different culture, and you don’t speak the language. So it’s exciting and fun, but when you get off the airplane, you don’t even know how to get to your hotel. And reading all the guidebooks really doesn’t help at all.”

He laughs. “Fair enough. But you only have to learn one neighborhood at a time.”

“But I’m moving there for twenty years!” I sit up, and turn to face him.

He laughs harder. “Just when I am moving back to my country of origin.”

And then he stops laughing.

Chapter 10

Nick

“Wait a minute,” my brother, Charlie, chokes out in between deep, uncontrollable bouts of laughter. “You’re telling me your kid called your lover while you were in the middle of hot sex?”

“We’d just finished having hot sex,” I correct him, draining my Sea Belt Scotch Ale. The soundtrack to Brother, Where Art Thou? strums away in the background. Charlie and I are eating pizza out of the box. Feels like twenty years ago. His half has banana peppers, anchovies, and pineapple on it.

My half is trying desperately to escape his half, the pepperoni offended by his taste buds.

I haven’t told Charlie exactly who my lover is. I also hate the word lover. Lover is what Simone called Rolf.

I preferred the term schweinhund. Google it.

Charlie shakes his head. “Elodie. Remember when she was four and she insisted on dressing like Coco Chanel and refused to speak English at school that day?”

“How could I forget? My kid was almost expelled from Montessori for perpetuating cultural stereotypes.”

As Charlie picks up his final piece of pizza, an anchovy breaks in half and lands on the cardboard.

“Hey!”

“What?” he says, his dismissive look one I’ve seen since he was little. Charlie looks like our mother, with dark brown hair and pale brown eyes the color of cafe au lait. No one ever thinks we’re brothers. Aside from the same body type, we’re nothing alike.

“Your piece of salty fish nearly ruined my dinner.”

“Maybe removing the stick up your ass will improve your appetite. The sex was that bad?”

“Shut up,” I growl. I’m not talking about sex with Chloe. After one of her many margaritas, Chloe whispered the fact that Charlie had been her first. Knowing we’ve both slept with her is bad enough. Having to tell Charlie is worse. If I can hold off a little longer, maybe it’ll be easier.

“Is that why Elodie’s not here? She’s staying scarce?”