After a long, sleepless night, I wake up to find my four sisters sitting in my living room. I stumble to the coffee pot as they lie in wait, like a pack of hyenas waiting to pick my bones and chat on my couches. In my head, I can still see the couch cushions on the floor as Mick and I played the lava game with the kids. Now, they hold my favorite people in the world, who just happen to also be the four people I want to see the least right now.

“Don’t you all have homes to go to?” I ask over a yawn as I stumble into the kitchen.

“This is home, bitch,” Finny says.

“Um…I’m pretty sure you live somewhere else now,” I remind her. “So why don’t you all go back there?”

“Someone’s grumpy when she wakes up,” Star mutters.

“Don’t you have a child you should be taking care of?” I ask, as I get my coffee and go flop on the chair that’s not occupied. I tuck a blanket around my legs.

“Marta” is the only word she says.

Finny nods. “They have mine too. Emilio is taking him to the park.” Benji might not have come from her body, but he’s her son, and Emilio is fiercely in love with him. Finny lays her hand on her belly when she feels a kick. “I’ll be glad when this one’s out so he can take her too.”

“Her?” I ask.

She smiles. “Her.”

“I get to buy pretty dresses to go along with the Tonka trucks she’ll have to have. And baseball caps to go with the tiaras.” I smile, but I don’t feel like smiling. My life is shit, and I don’t know what to do about it. “Why are you all here?” I ask, covering my mouth as another yawn escapes.

“Well,” Finny starts, a mischievous grin on her face, “we want to know how big Mick’s dick really is. Inquiring minds want to know, and all that.”

I set my coffee cup on the table.

Lark reaches over and covers Finny’s mouth. “We do not want to know that.”

Finny pretends to struggle. “You know you do,” Finny says from behind Lark’s palm.

Lark lifts her hand and rocks her head back and forth like a metronome. “Okay, so we kind of do, but that’s not the most important thing. How was the trip?”

“Fine.” I pick my coffee back up.

“Fine?” Peck says. Peck is the one who has been married the longest. She’s also the quietest. It used to be because she had a fierce stutter, but now it’s because she chooses her words with care. “D-define fine,” she says.

“The kids were great. The trip was tiring. The ride was exhausting.”

“Was it hard turning them over? The kids, I mean,” Lark asks.

“No, they were happy to be with their grandmother. They’re going to be fine.” I shrug. “That part was well worth the trip.”

“So, can we get back to what’s important?” Finny says with a snort. She leans toward me like she’s telling me a secret, but says loudly, “Did you get any pictures of the goods?”

“The goods?”

“You know, the man meat. The dick pic. The ol’ sausage.”

I lift a hand. “You can stop there. I get it. And no, I didn’t get any pictures.”

“But you did see it.” She slaps her hand on her thigh. “I knew it. I knew you would.”

“So, what happened? Why aren’t you happy?” Star asks. Out of all my sisters, we’re the closest. She knows me the best.

“I…I don’t know,” I admit. I shrug my shoulders as tears flood my eyes. I blink them back. “I have no idea what happened.” And I don’t. I still don’t know. “We came home early, because he said he had to go to work. And we didn’t speak on the plane, or when we came home. It was like everything changed with that pill, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“What pill?” Star asks. She looks to our other sisters like one of them will know what’s going on, but they all shrug too.

“The morning-after pill,” I say. “After that, everything changed.”

“Wait,” Lark says. “You took a morning-after pill?”

“So, you did fuck him!” Finny cries out. “I knew you would.” Then she sobers when Star shoots her a look. “Sorry,” she mutters. “Please continue.”

“So, the pill?” Star prompts.

I nod. “He bought me one. Said to take it.”

Lark collapses back against the couch. “That was…thoughtful of him.”

“Did the condom break?” Finny asks.

I shake my head.

“He didn’t pull out?” Finny probes. Star glares at her. “What?” she cries. “It’s a legitimate question!”

“I didn’t exactly give him a chance to pull out. I was on top. My fault entirely.” I heave a sigh and scrub a hand down my face.

“Bullshit,” Finny says. “He could have lifted you right off if he’d wanted to.”

Funny. That’s the same thing he said. And yet I still feel responsible. “Maybe.”

“So, after you took the pill…” Star leaves it open.

I shake my head. “I didn’t take it.”

“Why not?” Peck asks softly.

“It didn’t feel right.” I can’t even begin to explain it. I just know it hurts. It fucking hurts. My eyes well up again and I don’t even try to stop the tears this time. “I actually opened the package and put the pill in my mouth, and then I stopped. It just didn’t feel right. At the time, I thought this thing between us would last forever. But then he went cold on me. And now I don’t know what to do. I just…don’t know.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Star says.

I throw up my hands in surrender, like throwing confetti into the air. They’re going to make me rehash it over and over. And every time, it hurts exactly the same.

“Just hear me out. We’re going to figure this thing out.”

I nod.

“So, you guys had sex, and someone—doesn’t matter who—didn’t use protection, not even the withdrawal method.”

“Yes.”

“And after,” Star says, “he bought you the pill, and he gave you a way out of it all, if you didn’t want to be in this with him.”

“I think it’s sweet that he gave her a choice. That he was thinking about that,” Lark says quietly. “A lot of men would have just walked away, and considered it to be her responsibility.”

Shane walked away and considered it to be my responsibility. She’s right.

“But you were already in it. You wanted whatever may come, because you felt like you could do it with him?” Star cocks a brow at me. “Like the two of you might have a future, whatever may happen?”

“Yes.”

“And then he got really cold, and shut you out,” Star says.

“Yes.”

“So why did he do that?” Star starts to thump her thumb on her knee.

“Maybe he got scared, too,” Lark tosses in.

“No, Mick’s not scared,” Star says. “He’s been head-over-heels for her since he met her.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know that she didn’t take the pill,” Peck says quietly. And I realize that she’s a little teary too. “He might think she took it.” She turns to me. “You said you opened the wrapper and put it in your mouth.”

I nod.

“So, was there a chance he saw it? The open wrapper?”

I think back. “I didn’t hide it. I was about to tell him that I didn’t take it, to be sure it was all right, when he shut the door on me.”

“But maybe he jumped to conclusions,” Lark says.

Finny snaps her fingers. “By George, I think we’ve solved it.”

“There’s more to it than that.” Lark winces. “But it’s not my story to tell.”

“Well, you can’t just leave it like that,” Finny cries.

She groans. “Okay, so, you remember Nicky, right?” Lark asks.

“The ex. Yes. She dumped him.”

“She had two kids when he met her. He fell in love with her family, and a little bit with her, but mostly with the family. Ryan says he’s a caregiver. It might be because he spent his younger years always translating for someone and making sure everyone in his family had what they needed. But anyway…” She takes a breath. “They were decently happy, and then one day, he found a medical record in her purse when he went looking for the baby’s lost binky.”

I sit forward. “What kind of record?”

“She’d had an abortion without telling him. He had no idea. He was devastated. And I’m pretty sure that I’m not supposed to tell anyone.” She groans. “Ryan’s going to kill me.” She rests the back of her head against the couch and stares up at the ceiling.

“Was the baby his?”

She nods. “The baby was his, and then it was gone.”

“So, he thinks that I…” I point to my stomach like there’s something in there.

“He has no way of knowing you didn’t take the pill,” Peck says.

“He bought the pill!” I cry.

“He wanted you to have a choice,” Star says quietly. “But secretly, I think he wanted you to choose not to. I don’t know. But that’s a best guess.”

“I didn’t take it!”

Finny covers my hand with hers. “Sweetie, apparently, he doesn’t know that.”

“You should tell him,” Peck says.

“You’re going to have to reach out to him. He’s hurt,” Star says.

“Yeah, well, he left me,” I remind them.

“He’s hurt,” Star says again.

I blink back my tears. So am I. More hurt than I’ve ever been by anything. I get up. “I’m going to take a shower. Thank you for the talk. You all can see yourselves out.” I turn toward my room, but then I turn back. “And, Lark, you can’t tell Ryan any of this. Not a single word. Do you understand?”

She doesn’t look at me, but she jerks a single nod of her head.

I go into my room and close the door. I’m about to step into the bathroom when the bedroom door flies open. It’s Star. And she’s pissed.

“You’re not going to like what I’m about to say, but I don’t give a fuck. If Mom and Dad were here…” Her eyes well up and she doesn’t even try to stop the tears from running onto her cheeks. She sucks in a breath. “Do you remember when you were trying to learn to ride a skateboard? Still don’t know why you thought you should do that, but anyway… You fell, and you scraped your elbows and knees, and you got road rash up the side of your leg? Remember?”

“Yes.”

“And Dad flipped the skateboard over and told you to ‘suck it up, buttercup’ and get back on it.”

“Yes.” I choke on a sob. She doesn’t talk about our parents often, because it just hurts too much. But in my head, I can see the tree-lined street and the sidewalk, and my mom standing there with her hand over her mouth, aching to run to me. But my dad held up a hand to stop her. “What’s it gonna be?” he’d said to me. “Are you going to quit, or are you going to get back on?”

“And you got right back on it. You didn’t even hesitate.” Star finally swipes her cheeks clear.

I nod, unable to speak.

“Well, suck it up, buttercup. Get back on.” She holds my face in her hands and steps onto her tiptoes to kiss my forehead, pulling my head down a little to do it. Her lips linger. “There,” she says, as she pretends she’s dusting my arm off. “My job here is done.” She wipes her cheeks again and leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

I sit down on the edge of my bed and fall back. Because I know what I need to do now. I just don’t know how to do it.

---

Despite not knowing how I’m going to approach Mick, I know I have some questions I need to ask him and there are things that we need to talk about. That much I do know. I don’t want to lose him, and I can’t help but think that I already have. He needs to know that I didn’t take the pill. He needs to know that I want whatever may be, as long as he’s in it with me. He’s the deciding factor. He is what I need. Nothing else. No one else. So I assume that the first step will be finding out where he is today and when I can see him. I know where he works, but it would be rude to just show up there.

I text him really quickly and say, “I miss you already.”

Bubbles form on the screen, like he’s typing. Then they disappear. Then they appear again. Whatever reply he’s thinking of making doesn’t appear. I shove my phone in my pocket and take the elevator down to the lobby of my apartment building.

I’m surprised when I see Marcus standing in the lobby instead of Henry. “Good morning, Miss Vasquez,” he says.

“Good morning, Marcus. And please, I told you it’s just Wren.”

“Yes, Miss Vasquez,” he says with a grin.

“Where’s Henry?” I ask, looking around the room like he’s going to jump out of the nearest ficus tree.

“Oh, he’s still in the hospital.” He keeps working, sweeping the lobby, like he didn’t just say something important.

“Why is Henry in the hospital?” Surely someone would have told me. I pull my phone out of my pocket and sort through all my texts. Not a word from anybody. “Marcus?” I prompt when he doesn’t speak.

“He has pneumonia. Started with a cold, but at his age…”

My heart gallops in my chest. “Is he all right?”

“He should be just fine. They’re just being careful. Last I heard, they plan to send him home in a few days.” He grins. “They keep suggesting that he retire, but he says you could plant him in a grave faster than you could make him retire. Loves his work, that man does.”

“Thank you, Marcus,” I say absently. He holds the door for me and I step out onto the street. I’m wearing a hoodie and dark jeans, and I put on some mirrored sunglasses and pull a baseball cap low over my eyes. I don’t need a bodyguard to go to the hospital.

I pull my phone from my pocket and text my sisters all at once. “Did you guys know that Henry is in the hospital?”

They all respond with shock. I explained what I was told about what happened and tell them I’m on the way to see him. They make me promise to let them know how he’s doing.

I traipse all the way across town and go directly to his room, once someone tells me where he is. I take my glasses off my face, and pull my cap from my hair, letting it fall around my shoulders. Knocking softly on the door, I wait quietly for someone to call out, but no one does. I give it a gentle shove and open it to find Faith sitting in a chair reading a book. Her legs are propped on the edge of the hospital bed. She looks up at me and smiles, her head resting against the back of the chair where she’s slouched.

“Hey,” I say quietly. Henry is sleeping. He doesn’t look terrible. He’s in a hospital gown and has a nasal cannula in his nose for oxygen. “How is he?”

She laughs quietly. “He’s mean, that’s what he is,” she whispers. “He’s been griping about going home ever since he got here.”

I step closer to the bed. “Is he okay?”

“I’d be fine if Faith would go home and let me sleep,” Henry suddenly trumpets from the bed. I jump and Faith laughs.

“I’ll be happy to go home, as soon as you’re up and moving around,” she tells him. “So, shut it and lie there like a good sick person.”

He chuckles. “She gets that from me.”

I lean over and kiss his balding pate. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Eh,” he says with a wave of his hand. “You were on a very important mission. Didn’t want you to miss any of it.”

My mission went south. I guess it showed on my face.

“Uh oh,” he says. “What’s that look for?”

I shrug and sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Let me get rid of Faith and we’ll talk,” he says. I nod. “Faith!” he says loudly.

She rolls her eyes. “I’m sitting right here. About two feet from you.” She doesn’t get up. She just adjusts her feet. “I know you can see me,” she taunts.

“Don’t you have a husband to get home to?” he asks.

“He’ll survive until I get there.”

“She’s been here all night, every night,” he says to me. But she can still hear him. “I keep telling her to go home, but she’s stubborn. She gets that from her grandmother.”

Faith snorts. “I told you that even if I go home, I won’t be able to get any sleep. I’ll just lie there and worry. I’d rather be here. So, shut up and quit your griping, would you?”

He laughs, which turns into a coughing fit that scares me. Faith gets up and hands him a cup of water.

“See?” she says. “I told you so. You need me. Admit it.”

“I’ll always need you, Faith,” he says. “But you should tap out and let Wren here keep me company for a little bit.”

“I’m sure Wren has better things to do.”

“I don’t,” I chirp. And I don’t. My apartment is empty, my family is busy, and Mick…well, he’s gone. “I can stay. You should go home and get some rest.”

She starts to protest but I stop her.

“Really, I don’t mind.” In fact, I’d kind of enjoy it.

“If you’re sure…” she says tentatively. But I can already see her tallying up all the things she has to do when she gets home. She starts to gather her things.

She kisses him on the forehead and lingers over his hand. He pats the side of her face and she ducks his hands, laughing. “Thanks for doing this, Wren,” she says. She slips out the door and closes it gently behind her.

“God, I love that girl, but she’s like a mother hen, always clucking around, telling me to eat my vegetables and get some sleep.” He adjusts himself in the bed and groans. “I’ve been trying to run her off for days.”

“She loves you.”

“And I love her too, but sometimes you have to let a man rest.” Henry stops and stares at me.

“Why didn’t she tell anyone you were here?”

“I asked her not to. The last thing I want is someone treating me like I’m a sick old man.”

“But what about the times when you are a sick old man?” I protest. “Like now.”

“I’m glad you’re here. We need to talk.”

“Can I get you anything?” I ask, suddenly nervous, because he has that look that says he’s going to pull all the truth right out of my soul.

He shakes his head. “You fell in love with him, didn’t you?” he suddenly blurts out.

I look everywhere but at him, because I’m fiercely blinking back tears.

“Oh, honey,” he says. He takes my hand in his. “Love’s supposed to hurt just a little bit. That’s how you know it’s real. If you felt nothing, you’d know you had nothing.”

“He’s not even talking to me now,” I say.

He waves his hand in the air again. “If I had to count all the times my Nan refused to talk to me, I’d have to use my fingers, my toes, the hairs on my back, and all of yours.” He reaches for a lock of my hair and rubs it between his fingers. “She was a blonde, you know, when I met her. She was short and thin. She liked taking long walks because she said they cleared her head. She was a fighter, all the way to the end. But, good God, when that woman was mad, she locked up tighter than a rusty bolt. She didn’t say a word. But I always knew she loved me. I knew she’d talk to me again, so I just rode out the storm.”

“I wish this was just a little storm.” Hell, I’m not even sure what this is.

He points to the cabinet across the room. “Reach in there and get me the book, will you?” he asks. I rummage in his small cabinet until I find a notebook at the bottom of the pile of his belongings. I hand it to him. “I had Faith bring me this so I could read it when I don’t have anything to do.” He opens it and turns the pages, licking his thumb so he can flip them faster. He stops at one section. “Right here,” he says. He holds the book out to me.

I take it from him and look down at the page. Neat, flowing, handwritten script graces the page. “Whose is this?”

“It was my Nan’s.” He nudges me. “Go ahead. Read it to me.”

Dear Diary,

I have decided that my husband is an ass.

I look up from the book as Henry chuckles. “I was an ass,” he says. “Go on.”

Dear Diary,

I have decided that my husband is an ass. Why, you might ask? Well, that’s easy. He’s a stubborn, pigheaded, irritating man. Today, he got us tickets to see a movie, and he made arrangements for the neighbor, Mrs. Barstow, to watch the two little ones. He knows we can’t afford a movie. But he did it anyway. He came home from work looking smug and I knew something was up. We don’t have two pennies to rub together and the man spends the little bit we do have to buy tickets to a movie.

I very promptly told him that I would not be attending, so he could just go by himself. So, what did he do? He took the kids to the neighbor’s apartment, and then he came back and kissed me so soundly that I lost my breath.

“Still mad at me?” he asked, when I finally stepped down off the cloud I was on.

“Livid,” I said, with my lips still pressed tight against his.

Then the fool kissed me again. We went to the movie, and he bought popcorn while we split a soda. After that, we walked hand in hand down the street and he stopped and kissed me under the streetlight. I knew then that I should tell him. I knew then that I should tell him why I wasn’t willing to spend the money. But I couldn’t. He’d made the night so perfect.

“I already know,” he said, as he brushed my hair back from my face. I looked up at him, with that streetlight behind him like a halo, and he said he already knew. “We’ll make it work, no matter what, just like we always have,” he said.

Then he said, “Kiss me, Nan.” Because kisses make everything better.

And he was right. Kisses make everything better. We will be all right.

I look up from the page, and find Henry staring at me intently. “She was pregnant,” I say.

“Yes. And we were poor as two church mice. When nothing else was certain, I was one hundred percent sure that I loved her with everything in me. As long as you know that, you can get through anything.”

I heave out a sigh. “I wish it was that easy.”

“It is. It is that easy.”

He turns the pages until he finds the one he wants to hear next. “Read that one,” he says.

Dear Diary,

The bleeding didn’t start until after Henry left for work. I tried not to be too worried, but inside, I was terrified. What if something happened to this baby? When I first found out I was pregnant, I didn’t want it. What kind of a person has thoughts like that? Me, apparently. I had thoughts like that. Then I felt the first cramp.

I took the kids to Mrs. Barstow, and went to the doctor. It was too late. No matter how desperately I wanted to hold on to that life, it had already left me. I might not have wanted it when I first found out, but I wanted it more than anything in that moment. Sadly, it wasn’t meant to be, and our third child would never be held in our arms.

The doctor called Henry at work, and he came right over. My heart was in shreds when Henry walked into the room. The nurse spoke to him for a moment, and I saw him place his hand over his heart. His knees appeared to wobble, and he reached for a chair to steady himself. He held that pose with his eyes closed, taking deep breaths. Then he straightened his spine, walked over to me, and kissed me. He kissed me right there in front of the doctors and nurses. He kissed me until my toes curled and the hurt was replaced by love.

We might not have held that child in our arms, but we will always hold him in our hearts.

I look up, unable to speak.

Henry wipes a tear from his cheek. “Sometimes, life gives you lemons. All you can do when that happens is pucker up and kiss someone.”

I laugh a watery laugh. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You had to go through your own pain. You think you’re the first woman to be scared of a pregnancy?” He snorts. “I can assure you that you’re not. You’re also not the first one to lose a baby.” He rubs the back of my hand. “For years later, the rest of her life, even after the Alzheimer’s stole all the tiny little memories from her, you could ask my Nan how old that baby would be, and she could tell you the number. A mother never forgets. Never.” He pats the back of my hand. “You’ll never forget, either, but you have to forgive yourself.”

I nod. “I think I’m tired of all this crying.”

“So, stop it,” he says.

And just that simply, I stop it.

He yawns. “I think I’m going to take a nap. Why don’t you sit over there and read?” He pushes Nan’s diary toward me. “Just skip the juicy bits, or I won’t be able to look you in the face tomorrow.” He chuckles, but his eyes are already closing.

I go sit down in the chair Faith was using and lift my feet to rest on the edge of the bed. I begin to read about their epic love story. I say epic, because it didn’t end, not even when she died. It lasts even now. There were no “juicy bits.” There was only love and devotion, and a whole lot of kissing.