I was so nervous, I could feel my palms sweating. Everything was sweating. I resisted the urge to rub my hands against my legs.

I took a deep breath. Looked into the eyes of my future, hopefully. “I love you. The past four years have been the best of my life. I want to spend the rest of it with you. Will you marry me?”

Then I held my breath.

“Yes!”

I threw open my arms and welcomed my heart into them.

* * *

Birthdays were supposed to be fun. That had been my plan.

Had been. Now, mine would be fun in comparison to, say, a head-on collision. I looked at the man across from me. How had this gone so wrong?

Ten minutes ago, we were laughing and crying together. I’d asked him to marry me, and he’d said yes. He was surprised, which surprised me.

Until he’d asked about my dinner plans this evening. He knew that I had a standing dinner with my family on my birthday. But Graham wouldn’t be going with me—he knew this. He knew all this. My family didn’t know the truth of my life.

We’d had this conversation before. I knew I was a coward for having it yet again. But I couldn’t do anything different. Not right now.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass how they are. That won’t work anymore, Bryant. This is on you.” He said as he put his hands on his hips, waiting.

I couldn’t hear his words over the roaring in my ears. This was the point I’d been trying to avoid for four years—my whole life, if I were honest. Which I wasn’t, and that was the problem. There was no more room for avoidance.

“I can’t,” I said.

“Well, that’s pretty clear.” He looked at me with a hard look and turned and left the room.

“Wait! What about what we just decided?” I followed him.

We spoke, but whatever we said fell from my head. All I could see was him walking out, and the noise of him going down the stairs.

He’d left me.

I’d asked him to marry me, and he said yes. Then he said no, and he left.

What else was there to say?

I had to think about this. I turned and went up the stairs to bed.

There was nothing else I could do. Not right now.

* * *

I lifted the corner of my mouth to try to keep the smile on my face. I’d practiced this in the mirror, so that I didn’t completely piss off my family and start a fight where there were no winners.

But as usual, my birthday celebration seemed to be more what they thought it should be rather than what I wanted. I would have preferred to have everyone over to the townhouse, and cook, and eat and drink and talk. That was it. That was my idea of how to celebrate.

Instead, we were out at a restaurant with fine linen and china. None of the kids were there. Dad was going on about the firm, Casey and Matt nodding and joining in when they had to—it also seemed that they were as uninterested as I was—in some weird attempt to make me miss what I’d never wanted.

My mom tried to keep the peace. Granddad made witty quips, generally stirring the pot.

Another year down.

Another year where I felt that no matter what, it wasn’t going to be enough of my family. What pissed me off was that later tonight, I’d go home and have wine, and unlike the past four years, Graham wouldn’t be there to share it with me, and laugh over the absurdity of my family.

Tonight, however, I’d be feeling sorry for myself rather thankful that I’d escaped the planned life.

Because I was never going to go along with what Dad had drilled into my head for years. Although, God knows I’d tried. All through high school, I tried. Took all the right classes. Associated with the “right” people. My brothers were athletes (I was okay) and dated the cheerleaders. Like, all of them.

So I asked out the junior varsity cheerleaders, to moderate success. While none of us ever spoke of it, they didn’t seem any more interested in getting handsy with me than I did with them. I think all the girls who agreed to go out with me were more impressed with who my brothers were than who I was.

In college, I used the excuse of law. I had to get good grades to get into the pre-law program. I was determined to go to Georgetown, and that wasn’t an easy task, even for me, with my last name. It worked, and once Tibby and I became good friends, I would take her as a date to places where one was required.

It worked.

My mom wondered if we were dating, my brothers asked how I’d scored her, and my dad said, if you marry her, get a prenup.

Granddad just laughed. Ever since he’d met Tibby when we’d asked him to bankroll our partnership, he loved her. Said she was going to be a kick-ass attorney, and he wanted her to owe him one.

We both did. One of the proudest moments of my life was five years after Tibby and I set up shop. We were able to repay my grandfather’s loan to us in full. I think I actually saw tears in the old man’s eyes.

My dad was less sentimental. “It’s time to settle down, now. You’re solvent, you don’t owe Dad anymore, and you need to think about your future.”

I made a non-committal noise and edged away. I didn’t even have Tibby anymore as she’d married Seth over the summer.

“Now that Tibby seems to have moved on,” my mother added helpfully.

“Mom, I’m nothing but happy for her.”

“Better he’s not with her, Marg,” my dad said. “What happens if they split? Then they would have to divide a marriage and a practice.”

“Thanks for looking out for me, Dad.”

“Well, someone has to.”

I rolled my eyes, kissed my mom, and left. Family dinners were less and less enjoyable.

And no, no one had to look out for me. I looked out for myself just fine. Shit like this was getting old.

My brothers did it too, like I was still the baby of the family, never quite measuring up. The fact that I had my own practice, and they were still working for partnerships in theirs, and Tibby and I were well-off—that didn’t seem to mean anything.

To my family, I was still Baby Bryant. Add on Single Bryant, and my mom had a constant tone of lament.

But I couldn’t tell them the truth.

I’d never brought home a girl to my mother. If I got married, it would be to someone just like me—tall, blond instead of brunette, career-minded, not really interested in kids, and male.

The family, of course, had no idea. Which made the events of earlier today even worse.

I sighed. I could go over and over things until my head imploded, and it wouldn’t change what had happened, or that I’d have to try to pick up the pieces of my life.

Calling Tibby would be great because she knew the truth. To talk to someone who knew, who got it—it was a luxury. But she was married, and it wasn’t appropriate for me to call at all hours of the night like we used to

No matter what she said.

I’d have to get through this on my own.

* * *

The next morning, I got to work early, before anyone else. I dived right into the things that needed to be taken care of, happy to have something to distract myself.

But by midmorning, I shoved the papers on my desk off to the side. I loved my work even though international shipping wasn’t an exciting branch of the law. Working with our clients to navigate the laws of various countries in relation to the US was fascinating, and resembled a big, tangled ball of yarn. You had to be patient to work your way through it.

I wasn’t in the mood today.

“Hey, can you—” Tibby came in with a sheaf of papers in her hand. “What is it?”

She was always sensitive to my moods. It’s one of the reasons I loved working with her. She knew me, knew the real me. Knew pretty much everything about me and loved me as I was.

Even when I’d taken her now-husband out clubbing to a gay bar. She’d come and picked the three of us—her friend, now mine, I guess, Xavier was with us as well—in the middle of DC in the ass early hours of the morning when we were drunk as lords without complaint. The only thing she said was that no one was to throw up in her car.

Other than friendly ribbing that was the end of it. Tibby was more family than anyone I’d been born into a relationship with.

“I don’t know. Family dinner was fairly annoying. They seem to think I fucked it up with you somehow, which is why you rebounded with a client’s grandkid.”

Tibby burst out laughing. “When do you ever fuck up, Bryant? You’re one of the most meticulous people I know!”

“Well, not according to my family.”

She dropped into a chair in front of my desk. “Why are they more on your nerves lately? I’ve never heard you complain about them like you have been.”

I shrugged. I knew I was bitching more, but I couldn’t help it. “Because now I’m supposed to do the right thing, settle down, get married, and contribute to the tribe.” I grimaced. “You know. The world needs more Higgs.”

“You’d be a great dad,” Tibby didn’t miss a beat. “Look at all the shit you saved my stupid ass from.”

“That’s true, but it was always such a softball with you,” I grinned at her, thinking about the biggest almost oops on her part. That was when I told her the truth about me. We were interning for the same firm, and at the annual Christmas party. We’d gotten to be friends in class, but I wasn’t close to her. No one was, really.

I could still see her now, at that Christmas party years ago, that she should have been networking at, but instead she was drinking too much. She and one of the partners, Gerry the asshole, had wandered down the hallway to the bathrooms together. Anyone not drunk could see the intention happening there. Mrs. Goodman, or Mrs. Gerry-the-asshole, saw it too. Her lips tightened, and after a moment, she squared her shoulders, and leaned over to speak to one of the other partner’s wives.

Oh, shit. It was about to go down. I didn’t want Tibby to get the wrath of the scorned wife because I could tell that Mrs. Goodman wasn’t the type to blame her husband.

While she was debating, I set my drink down on the nearest table, and practically ran down the hallway.

Stupid as hell, they were right out in the open, sucking face. Being drunk was no good for anyone. I came closer and touched Tibby on the shoulder.

“Tib! There you are. Come here and hurry your ass up!”

At that, the partner did look up. “Mind your own business, buddy”, he slurred, and then turned his attention back to Tibby.

I moved closer, and instead of kissing the asshole, Tibby looked at me. When Gerry leaned in for more, she pushed him away with a little shove.

“What the hell…” Gerry-the-asshole muttered.

“What is it, Bryant?” Tibby asked.

“His wife is headed this way. If she catches you, it won’t be him she’s mad at. C’mon, Tib. Don’t be stupid. Come with me and save your ass.”

“Piss off, you little punk,” said Gerry.

I ignored him. “Tib, you know I’m here for you. Not like this guy,” I said with a look of disgust, glaring at Gerry.

It seemed like everyone was waiting to hear what Tibby would say. If this went wrong, my internship would be toast. But I’d seen what Mrs. Goodman did to secretaries who pissed her off. Someone touches her man? Tibby would lose hair, at the very least. I didn’t want that to happen to her.

As one of her study partners, I had plans for our friendship. Which meant she couldn’t screw this up with Gerry-the-asshole.