Page 3

But inside the room, everyone has stopped talking.

Gray brushes his thumb over Charlie’s cheek.

Ivy presses her lips together.

“Oh no,” Harper says softly.

Ivy’s eyes fill. “I’m fine.”

“You’re crying,” Gray says.

“I just had a baby. I can cry whenever I want.”

“That seems fair,” I say.

He stands and crosses to her, still holding Charlie. Ivy shifts carefully toward the edge of the bed so he can sit beside her, kicking Harper off.

Gray bends and kisses her forehead.

I watch the three of them and feel something I do not immediately have a name for.

This happens more often than people might assume.

I know how to identify emotions. I ask other people to do it every day as a therapist. I have charts in my office. Detailed notes on each client. Questions designed to narrow broad discomfort into something useful.

Sad is different from lonely.

Angry is different from betrayed.

Afraid is different from unprepared.

This feeling refuses to cooperate.

It is not sadness.

It is not jealousy.

It is something closer to being happy enough for someone that it exposes the empty spaces in your own life.

I look away before I spend too much time with that.

Harper has moved to the arm of the chair where Micah is sitting. He places one hand against the back of her leg without thinking.

She does not seem to notice.

But I do.

I notice most things people do without thinking.

Ivy wipes beneath her eyes. “I still can’t believe she’s here.”

Gray looks down at Charlie. “I can.”

Ivy’s eyes fill again.

“Oh, come on,” Harper says. “You just stopped.”

“I know.” Ivy wipes her cheek. “I was just thinking about the dare.”