Author: Kristan Higgins

My sister stares at me, wounded. As if summoned, Christopher materializes by her side. “Hey, Luce,” he says affably. Ah. An ally.

“Hi, Chris. Think I could hold your beautiful daughter? I haven’t had a chance yet.”

“Sure,” he says, lifting his baby from Corinne, ignoring her Significant Look, and starts to pass her to me.

“Wait!” Corinne snarls. She fishes around in the diaper bag and withdraws a liter of Purell. When the requisite thirty seconds of hand-rubbing have been observed, I am allowed to hold Emma at last.

She’s sleeping. I tuck the blanket under her chin. Corinne starts to advise me on how not to breathe on the baby, but then she spies Christopher snagging a mozzarella and tomato appetizer from a passing waiter. “Chris! Do you know the cholesterol count on those?” she bleats, practically slapping it out of his hand.

I withdraw a few feet. The doors to the kitchen are shielded from the dining room by a small wall, and someone left a chair there. It’s as good a place as any to sit and worship.

Emma’s skin is amazing…poreless and porcelain, smooth as the inside of a tulip petal. Her tiny lips are the sweetest Cupid’s bow, and her lashes are blonde and silken. She’s so warm and cozy against me, her slight weight more precious than anything I could imagine. I trace a tiny eyebrow with my sterilized forefinger, and Emma sighs in her sleep.

A wave of love and longing pulls my heart in a painful, wonderful ache. My doubts about finding another husband seem trivial when the prize could be this.

“You sure look good holding a baby” comes a voice.

I look up abruptly. Ethan stands before me in the doorway of the kitchen. His eyes are soft, and the breath leaves my lungs. My heart slows in long, rolling beats, and Ethan’s mouth tugs up. My knees go a little weak.

“Thanks,” I say, my voice husky. I clear my throat to cover and adjust Emma’s blanket.

“Daddy! I found you!” Nick comes barreling around the corner and crashes into his father’s legs. Ethan lifts him up and his face breaks into that amazing smile.

“Hey there, Nick the Tick!” he says, kissing his son loudly on the neck.

“I am a tick!” Nicky cries in delight, wrapping his arms and legs around his father. “See? You can’t get rid of me! I’m a tick! I’m stuck on you! I’m drinking your blood!”

“Disgusting!” Ethan pronounces, making his son convulse with laughter.

“I brought you a squid, Daddy! You have to eat it! Eat it, eat it!”

Ethan smiles. “Squid, huh? Let me have it.” He opens his mouth, heedless of the grubby hand that feeds him. “Delicious. Thank you, Tick Boy.”

“I love you, Daddy,” Nicky says with the absolute ease and sincerity only children possess. He lays his head on Ethan’s shoulder, then, catching sight of me, asks, “Is that your baby, Wucy?”

“Oh, no, honey. It’s Emma. Corinne’s baby, remember?” I smile. “She’s my niece.”

“I’m your nephew,” he states, confirming his ownership.

“Yes, you are. My one and only.” I glance at Ethan. “How are you, Eth?”

“Fine, Lucy,” he says. “You holding up okay?”

At those words, I look down at Emma to hide the fact that actually, no, I’m not. All night long, I’ve been avoiding the reason we’re here—I’m losing my in-laws, not to mention a huge link with Jimmy. My eyes sting, and I stroke Emma’s little ear, touch her velvety cheek.

“Can I have my daughter back?” My sister’s voice is sharp. “I need to feed her. Sorry, Lucy.” Without any more ado, she slides Emma out of my arms, leaving a cold spot where the baby was nestled so sweetly.

“Hi, Corinne,” Ethan says.

“Hi, Corinne,” Nicky echoes.

“Oh, hello, boys,” Corinne says with a small smile. “Sorry to interrupt. My br**sts are so engorged they feel like they’re about to crack open.”

“Ouch,” Ethan murmurs.

“Crack open?” Nicky asks.

“Ouch is right. You wouldn’t believe the pain. It’s agonizing.” Without further ado, Corinne canters off to nurse the baby.

Ethan sets his son back on the floor. “Nicky,” he says, “will you go find me another squid?”

“I will, Daddy! And then I’ll come back and be your tick again, okay?”

“Okay, baby,” Ethan says, his face so gentle and loving it hurts my heart. Nicky bolts off once more, and then Ethan looks at me. The pebble in my throat cuts like a lump of quartz. “Come here,” Ethan says, reaching for my hand. An electric jolt runs down my arm—I’d forgotten how warm and strong his hands are. Jimmy had hands like that. It’s the one place where the brothers look alike.

Ethan leads me into the kitchen. The party is winding down, and the kitchen is miraculously empty for the moment, as all the food was served buffet-style in the dining room.

Ethan takes a long look at me, still holding my hand. His eyebrows come together in a frown. “You okay, honey?” he whispers, and the endearment is like a nail in my heart. Oh, God, I miss him.

“Ethan,” I say, my voice cracking. I squeeze his hand hard, swallowing repeatedly. His mouth opens slightly, and in those brown and gold eyes is a question waiting to be answered. “Ethan,” I try again, but my throat clenches.

Hot, helpless tears fill my eyes, and I look away, automatically locating Jimmy’s shrine. Handsome, blue-eyed Jimmy Mirabelli, tall and strong. And gone. Just a memory now.

I let go of Ethan and wipe my eyes with the heels of my palms.

“This is where you guys met,” Ethan murmurs. I nod, letting the moment where I might have said something pass. I can’t have everything. Ethan was right.

The kitchen door opens, three servers come in with trays stacked with plates and glasses. Gianni follows.

“Hey, Dad,” Ethan says. “How’s everything going?”

“That idiot Carlo overcooked the chicken and it’s like f**king rubber,” Gianni growls. “Lucy, baby, sorry for the language. You okay? You get enough to eat?” Ethan’s father steps between us, slings an arm around my shoulders. “You’ll come visit us, yeah? It’s beautiful out there. Lotsa flowers. A golf course.” His eyes, like mine did just a moment ago, go to the picture of his son, and his face spasms.

“You bet,” I say, hugging my father-in-law. I feel the big man choke on a sob and hold him tighter, closing my eyes against the sorrow he has to carry for the rest of his life. Poor Gianni. Poor, poor man.

When I look up, Ethan’s gone.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“THE DOCTOR WILL SEE YOU NOW,” the receptionist says, earning me the baleful glare of a roomful of women in varying degrees of ripeness.

“She’s my cousin,” I explain. “I’ll only be a minute. I’m sorry.” No one deigns to answer.

I walk through the frosted glass door down the hall to my cousin’s office.

“Hey, Anne,” I say, giving a little knock. “Thanks for seeing me.”

“Sure, kid! How’s it going?” Anne asks.

Cousin Anne ushers me into a seat. Her office is in Newport, and as Newport is the stylish city mouse to Mackerly’s more humble offerings, so Anne is to me. She’s ten years older, extremely gorgeous and wicked smart, as indicated by the diplomas from Harvard and Johns Hopkins that hang on her wall. Her graying hair is short and funky, and her skin is a testimony to sunscreen and good genetics. She dresses in comfortable, stylish clothes in soothing colors and wears great jewelry. Her office is likewise wicked cool…glass desk, green leather chairs, a gorgeous view of the graceful span that is the Newport Bridge. A bookcase holds dozens of medical books, a nice picture of Anne and Laura, and a beautiful glass sculpture of a baby in utero.

“I’m not pregnant,” I say, just to get that out of the way. “And I brought you blueberry cream scones as a bribe.” I set the string-wrapped white box on her desk

“I love bribes,” she says amiably, peeking under a flap. “Yummy.”

“How’s Laura?” I ask, stalling.

“Oh, she’s great,” Anne answers. “Busy with the new school year and all that. We’re heading up to Bar Harbor for the weekend.”

“Sounds fun,” I say.

“It should be,” she agrees. Waits a little more. They must’ve taught that in med school. Sit silently till the patient can’t stand it anymore and blurts it all out.

“So. Things good with the lesbian doctor practice?” I say, swallowing hard.

She laughs. “Can you work on that? I’d really love to hear my mom say, ‘My daughter, the obstetrician’ just once.”

I smile. “Well, she’s very proud. Drops your credentials whenever she can.”

I do have a regular doctor. It’s just that I used to babysit Dr. Ianelli’s kids. And Mrs. Farthing is the receptionist there, and she’s the mother of my old high school classmate. The nurse, Michelle, is a bakery regular (two cheese danishes every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, and the pounds are starting to pile on, frankly). The physician’s assistant, Caroline, was in Girl Scouts with Corinne. The usual.

Anne nods. “So what brings you here, Lucy?”

I hesitate. “Doctor patient confidentiality?” I suggest.

“You bet,” she answers.

“I’m having anxiety attacks again.” Anne nods. “I mean, I had a few after Jimmy died, of course, hyperventilating, heart pounding, stuff like that, but I haven’t had any for a couple of years. Until a few weeks ago, actually.”

“Had anything changed in your life lately?” Anne asks.

“Well, my in-laws finally left yesterday,” I answer.

She nods and waits.

“And I’m…um, I’m starting to date again. Sort of.” I swallow sickly.

“That’s pretty big, hon,” she says with a kind smile.

My sinuses prickle with tears. “Mmm-hmm,” I murmur.

“How’s it going?” she asks.

“Not awful, not great.” I sniffle, and Anne passes me a tissue box without comment.

“How are you sleeping?” she asks.

“I haven’t slept that well since the accident,” I admit. “A few hours at night, a few in the morning after I’m done at the bakery.”

“Sleep has a lot to do with your mental state, Goose,” she says, reverting to her childhood nickname for me. “How about exercising? Any of that?”

“I ride my bike a lot. Around the island. I rode here today. At my last check-up, the doctor said I was perfectly healthy.”

She nods, then opens her desk drawer and takes out a prescription pad. “This is a scrip for a mild antianxiety medication,” she says, scribbling something down. “Give it a try, see if it helps. It should help you sleep, too. The first time you take it, you should probably be home and not near hot ovens and all that, okay?” She rips off the paper and hands it to me, then stands up and comes round her desk.

“You hang in there, honey,” she says, folding me into a hug. “Change sucks, and of course you’re going to freak out a little, starting to date again after all this time. What’s it been, five years?”

“And a half,” I say.

“Shit.” She sighs, then messes up my hair. “You’re normal, Lucy.” I give her a smile to show that I’m spunky and super-brave, and she smiles back. “Listen, the lesbian doctor has to get back to her patients. These pregnant women get mighty testy if I keep them waiting. Call me if you need anything else. And hey, come for dinner one of these days. Maybe Laura and I can think of some guy for you.”

“Thanks, Anne,” I say sincerely. Good old Anne. She and Laura almost make me wish I were gay, too.