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  He’d already gotten more than he bargained for with our friendship, and I’d never be able to thank him properly. From his objective help narrowing down the donors to how effortless he made getting over Kurt, he couldn’t have come into my life at a better time.

  He was living proof that everything happens for a reason. Or maybe he was simply proof that nothing can cheer a girl up like the attention of a handsome man. Either way, thanks to him, I’d managed to pick myself up, let my hair down, and start looking forward to things instead of dwelling on my past mistakes.

  Obviously, I couldn’t make too big a fuss about how grateful I was to have met him since it would only freak him out. But part of me wondered whether I’d even be ready to get pregnant if it weren’t for the boost in confidence his affection had inspired in me.

  Too bad I was clearly more attached to him than I ever intended to get. Perhaps the first weaning I should worry about was weaning myself off him. For both our sakes. After all, I didn’t want to spoil the nice memories we’d made by letting him witness my decline into a hormonal, maternity pants-wearing state. Not that he’d be dying to hang out once I was all belly and baby brain.

  My phone plinked on the coffee table, and I reached for it, careful not to accidentally one-click the box set of baby Mozart CDs I’d been looking at.

  You coming to the Groundhog Day party?

  I stared at the text from James, wishing it was an invite from Finn suggesting something decidedly sexier than shadow puppet contests…or whatever the hell James and Brie were planning.

  I’m going to tell a bunch of stories you’ve already heard and pretend to be afraid of my shadow all night.

  I rolled my eyes.

  Just kidding. You should come. Otherwise it won’t be as hilarious when I invite you again next year.

  As lame as I thought the theme was, it would be the perfect occasion to admit I’d soon have my own little shadow. “Sure,” I texted, deciding next weekend was as good a deadline as any for picking a baby daddy. “I’ll be there.”

  T H I R T Y E I G H T

  - Finn -

  I hadn’t bothered God since our family dog Booster died when I was thirteen. Until now, when I found myself praying for the strength to be patient with my brother. Yet again.

  Maybe that made me a bad person, but nothing had changed. Sure, he was sober, and I was as sincerely relieved as I was proud of him. But he was still the same selfish asshole who’d pushed me to my breaking point after our double billing in Sacramento all those years ago.

  He was on my couch right now because it was what best suited him, not what best suited me. Slurring or not, he still had absolutely no respect for my boundaries, nor did he seem to care how flagrantly and frequently he’d crossed them.

  Otis and I were still in bed when we heard my unwelcome houseguest rifling through the kitchen cabinets. Maeve should’ve been in bed with us, too, and her absence was palpable. Made me hate Max even more for swanning in last night like he deserved a medal for realizing he’d rather spend evenings playing with his kids than praying to the porcelain god.

  With a heavy heart, I slipped some pajama pants on over my boxers before grabbing a T-shirt on my way to the door. Meanwhile, Otis bounded along beside me, eager to investigate the ruckus. Turns out Max was dicking around with my coffee machine.

  “Do you know how to use that?” I asked.

  “Yeah, we’ve got one at mine,” he said, dumping a capsule in and pounding the delicate button too hard.

  “How’d you sleep?” I asked, hoping he’d say “terribly” and leave with his overnight bag for a hotel immediately.

  “Fine.” He turned and made his way back to the couch, which is when I noticed he had one of my sketchbooks open and had been looking through it.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I asked, grabbing it off the coffee table and refastening the elastic around its stuffed pages.

  “Whoa, relax,” he said, showing me his palms. “I was just looking at some of your drawings.”

  “Without asking? Who does that?”

  “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

  I didn’t even know what to say. After weeks of ignoring his calls, why would he think I was cool with him going through my stuff? The guy was incorrigible.

  “You’re talented,” he said, like I should be gracious for his expert opinion.

  I shut the notebook back in the drawer under the TV stand.

  “Did you ever consider going to art school?”

  I spun around so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash. “Are you for real? Of course I fucking considered it. We chased your dream instead, remember?” That’s when it occurred to me that maybe he didn’t. Lord knows it was hard to quantify how much time he’d spent blacked out, looking straight through me and our bandmates with a zombie-like vacancy in his eyes.

  “You could always go now,” he said. “As a mature student.”

  “First you say I’m talented. Then you suggest I need an education. Do you ever think before you speak?”

  His face flashed with genuine hurt, but I refused to pander to him. He wasn’t welcome here, and you can’t be soft on people who have a habit of using you or it’ll only happen again. He’s the one who taught me that. Still, for my parents’ sake, I needed to muster up some patience.

  “You still writing songs?” he asked, going over to collect his coffee.

  “I’m sick of your stupid questions,” I said, unwilling to admit that I was sitting on a pile of them myself.

  “I was only being polite. Truth is I found a bunch of them in the piano bench last night.”

  “Is that what you came here for? To rifle through my shit?”

  He leaned against the counter. “Actually, I was hoping you’d give me a chance to make amends.”

  “I wish you’d make amends by leaving me alone,” I said, going to make a coffee for myself. I really didn’t want to hate him. He was my brother, for chrissakes. My twin. But I didn’t know how to separate my feelings for him from my agitation at all he’d done wrong.

  “Do you regret being in the band?” he asked. “Is that what your beef is? Because you’re treating me like you hate my guts.”

  My jaw ticked as I loaded a purple capsule into the Nespresso machine, wishing I hadn’t blown off Maeve’s calls last night. Part of me did it because I was in denial about Max’s unannounced visit, but I also did it to avoid giving her an answer about her brother’s party, which wasn’t fair.

  It’s not like I didn’t want to meet her siblings. Of course I did. And I wanted to be there to support her when she broke her big news, too. Or rather, I didn’t want the job to fall to someone else. But I wished she’d take more time over the decision. That said, I’d be damned before I was the guy who held her back. That was the last role I wanted to play in her life.

  “I don’t regret being in the band,” I admitted finally. “I regret enabling you to become a despicable human being and how many chances I gave you to get your act together.”

  “For what it’s worth, you’re not the only one who regrets the fact that you can’t look me in the fucking eye anymore.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at him, and he stared back at me, the truth of his words like a frozen tundra between us.

  “I’m here to apologize,” he said. “It’s part of the program I’m in. I have to make amends with the people I’ve hurt.”

  I turned around and crossed my arms while the coffee machine churned behind me. “You’re doing the twelve steps?”

  “That’s the idea.”

  It was hard for me to believe he’d even remember half the stuff he should be sorry for.

  “I have a list of things,” he said, pulling a folded piece of lined paper from the back pocket of jeans. “If you’re willing to hear me out.”

  Fuck. I reached over and pulled my steaming mug from under the dispenser. “I’m not going to lie, Max. I’m not exactly excited at th
e prospect of reliving anything that might’ve made your list.”

  “It would mean a lot to me,” he said. “I know it’s too little too late, but I really am sorry for the hurt I caused you.”

  I gritted my teeth and took a deep breath as I considered my options. “What happens if I hear you out? I suppose I’m expected to forgive you?”

  “No,” he said quickly. “I’m well aware you might never trust me again. But if I don’t at least try to apologize for the pain I’ve caused you, I know there’s no chance we can ever be friends again, much less brothers.”

  There’s an understatement if ever I heard one, I thought, drawing strength from the warm mug in my hands. “Let me give Otis something to eat, and I’ll be right over,” I said, figuring we could both use a moment to collect ourselves as I gestured towards the couch.

  When I finally took a seat across from him, Max cleared his throat and dropped his eyes to the page in front of him, which was shaking lightly in his hands.

  It was nice to see him shaking from nerves instead of withdrawal. Maybe he really was trying.

  “I’m sorry I swung at you on stage in Sacramento.”

  Strong start.

  “I’m sorry I fucked that girl Suzie when I knew you liked her.”

  “Suzie?” I asked, furrowing my brow.

  “The one with the bird tattoo on her hip.”

  “That was Molly.”

  He squinted at me. “Then who was the one who always wore fishnets?”

  “That was Emily.”

  “Oh,” he said, his face marred by confusion. “I’m sorry I fucked her, too.”

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

  “I'm sorry I gave myself a songwriting credit for ‘Black Waltz’ and ‘Sweet Sorrow’ when I had nothing to do with writing those.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “That was a particularly dick move.”

  “I’m sorry about the hotel room in Vegas,” he said. “And the one in Austin, too.”

  I sighed.

  “I’m sorry I said I didn’t need you.”

  Tears pricked the back of my eyes.

  “You’re the only person I’ve ever really needed.”

  I bit the inside of my lip.

  “I’m sorry I fed Otis people food after you asked me not to.”

  Of all things to—

  “I’m sorry I always insisted on being the front man when you were the one with real talent.”

  I opened my mouth to interrupt, but he kept talking.

  “You always were,” he said. “That’s why I asked you to go to LA with me. I wasn’t good enough to make it on my own, and I knew it.”

  “That’s not true,” I said. “You’re making it on your own now.”

  “Barely,” he said. “And only because people want to hear me sing the hits you wrote.”

  I swallowed.

  “I’m sorry I said you were too shit for art school. I thought you’d abandon me if you realized how talented you were.”

  He was trying. I had to give him that.

  “I’m sorry I tried to trick you into taking those tranquilizers in Boston. I’m sorry I took them and totaled the rental car. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t walked away from that crash like I did.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  “I don’t know why you stuck by me another four years after that, through two more overdoses. I don’t even know how many thanks I owe you for turning me on my side so I wouldn’t choke on my own puke.”

  This wasn’t the man I walked away from. That guy had never apologized for anything.

  “I’m sorry I made you hate me so much you don’t visit the girls more. I know how much you like kids, and they really miss you. I’ve told them it’s my fault. Same with Janie. I know I’m the reason we’re not a big, happy family.”

  My shoulders dropped with my exhale.

  “I’m sorry for all the times I’ve lied about you in TV interviews. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I think I’m just embarrassed to admit to strangers that I don’t know what you’re up to because you won’t take my calls.”

  “Max—”

  “I’m not done,” he said, turning the page over. And the sorries kept coming for another twenty minutes, covering everything from stuff he broke to stuff he stole from me to stuff I thought he was too off his head to remember.

  “I’m sorry for how ungrateful I was,” he said. “You sacrificed your dream for mine, and I never even thanked you. We should’ve been having the time of our lives, but I ruined it.”

  I forced a sad smile.

  “So I understand why you don’t return my calls. I don’t deserve a brother like you. But I want you to know that if you ever give me another chance to be part of your life, I promise I’ll do better.”

  “Is that all?”

  His eyes grew wide. “Did I forget something?” He looked between me and his paper.

  “No,” I said, scooting closer to him on the couch. “I think that about covers it.”

  Relief washed over his worried face.

  “And I never thought I’d say this, Max, but I’m proud of you.”

  His expression lifted. “Thanks, Finn. You have no idea what that means to me.”

  “Of course I do,” I said, pulling him into a hug. “Whose opinion could possibly mean more to you than mine?”

  He laughed, his chest shaking as he hugged me.

  “It’s going to be alright,” I said, patting his back.

  And then he broke down, crying in my arms like a hurt little kid. Just like I cried that night in Sacramento, when I finally admitted to myself that I couldn’t save him, that I had to walk away before he dragged me down, too.

  But he’d saved himself. In the end, my baby brother had saved himself. And he was going to be alright.

  And for the first time in ten years, I thought maybe I wasn’t such a bad brother after all.

  T H I R T Y N I N E

  - Maeve -

  I was never the little girl that put a pillowcase on her head and daydreamed about her wedding day. Maybe if I had been, I wouldn’t be staring at an online shopping cart containing two vials of frozen sperm that belonged to a guy on the other side of the country.

  No matter. Times were changing, and I was on the right side of history, the side where a woman could call the shots in her own life and make a family without a man. Okay, so I did need a man’s sperm, but at least I didn’t have to stroke his ego to get it. All I needed was a Visa card.

  I scrutinized the order form, finding it frustrating that each vial cost a thousand dollars. Then again, if I focused on the fact that I was getting around thirteen million swimmers for that price, it seemed like decent value. I mean, I paid around seventeen cents for an egg at the grocery store and almost sixty cents for a Nespresso pod. So .00007 cents for a squiggly sperm sounded like a steal.

  Thirteen million, though? Made it feel kind of crazy to get two vials. Yet one seemed overly optimistic, and I didn’t want to jinx myself. The online forums I’d visited were full of women who bought up to five on their first purchase. That sounded excessive to me, but if I eventually decided to have more kids, it would be nice if they all had the same father.

  Ugh.

  Why was this so hard? And why was I doing this at work? What the hell was wrong with me? Not that I usually beat myself up about a sneaky online purchase, but it wasn’t exactly paper towels and Tide Pods I was picking up. It was sperm.

  Daniel’s sperm.

  The childhood photos had been the tiebreaker.

  Dartmouth was cute. He had big brown eyes and lopsided dimples I found endearing. But Daniel ran away with it. He had twinkly blue eyes, dirty-blond hair, and cheeks that were just pudgy enough for pinching. He also seemed quietly confident, like I imagined Finn probably was as a kid.

  I knew the notion was ridiculous. Daniel from Boston was no more Finn than I was Beyoncé. Still, the idea tha
t my baby might resemble a man I found attractive comforted me in an otherwise uncomfortable situation.

  Plus, although I’d never met anyone who graduated from Dartmouth, I’d met some awfully entitled snobs from Ivy League schools over the years. And while I liked the idea of getting knocked up by a soldier, he’d probably killed more people than the web designer who enjoyed scuba holidays.

  So to avoid procrastinating any longer, I clicked “Pay Now” before I could change my mind. Then I stared at the screen with my order number on it, holding my breath until the confirmation email arrived on my phone with a heavy plink.

  Holy shit.

  The clichéd phrase here goes nothing ran through my head, and I couldn’t help but laugh. I must’ve been nine years old last time I said that to myself, and there was probably a diving board involved.

  My forehead ran hot, and I was seized by a nauseating wave of panic. But then came euphoria. I was going to be a MOM. With a bit of luck, of course, but at least I’d done my part.

  Now I just had to wait for the clinic to tell me Daniel’s swimmers had arrived safely, hopefully under lock and key. God forbid they got mixed up with Barry from clown school’s sperm after I spent all that time choosing carefully.

  I took a few deep breaths and turned my attention back to the proposal I was working on. Because that’s what moms did, right? They got interrupted and then went back to what they were doing. I smiled at the thought, but no sooner had I begun rereading my notes than my phone rang.

  I lunged for it, thinking it might be the clinic calling to tell me Daniel just won a Nobel Prize. But it was Finn. Even better. “You’ll never guess what I just did.”

  “Did you…win the lottery?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Did you meet someone famous?”

  “No.”

  “Did you touch yourself and pretend it was me?”

  I blushed. “No.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “You sound breathless.”