Jack froze, too. He thought back—back to when they started talking about baby names. He’d cared too much—he maybe always felt that Jack was a stupid name, too plain, just not something that made sense for the kind of life he had now, the life he wanted to give his children. So he picked more complicated names, Jonquil and Gwilim and Amethyst, and Meg was fine with it, though she did laugh at him. She liked to see him smile.

She just wanted a family with Jack. And he wanted one with her.

He’d got it, and he was still miserable.

“How—how is Margaret?” Theo’s voice was stilted, uncomfortable, but still practiced and mannered despite the insincerity. Jack knew that voice and squinted at him.

“Are you trying to be nice?”

Theo scoffed, then rolled his eyes. “Yes. God knows why. Do you think this afternoon will go better if I start throwing things?”

Jack breathed out a bit of a laugh, then wrapped his fingers around his mug. He stared into the milky-sweet brew, not really knowing what to say—even though he felt he had so much to say, had been holding on to it for years.

Maybe he was worried that if he opened his mouth, it would all—it would be real. He’d start talking and tell Theo everything—from how badly he wanted him, right now against the glass window, to what he’d had for breakfast that morning; from the way he’d looked at Meg and wished she were sharp and blond and mean to what he’d been imagining when he wrapped a hand around himself in the shower last night, clenching his mouth shut so he wouldn’t make a sound. Everything.

How he still dreamed of lazy mornings, drinking the dregs of canned cider, burying his face in the soft hair along Theo’s neck, kissing him between cigarettes. Fighting with him and fixing it. Planning a life, a little bit.

How he’d woken up, every morning for almost twenty years, expecting to see Theo. Putting a record on. Mixing up instant coffee. Dancing naked in front of the mirror.

Loving him in that way he told himself is only possible when you’re young. When your heart is still fresh enough to break.

“Meg and I are getting a divorce.”

The reaction was fast and unmistakable. Theo’s face went white, and his hands clutched his cup. He didn’t move.

And his voice was cool and so fucking calm when he said, “Oh?”

“Yeah.”

Theo cleared his throat a bit. “I’m not sorry.” A shred of a sneer.

“Me neither. I mean, I wasn’t when I heard that you and Alexia—”

“Why are you getting a divorce?” Theo shot back, fast. A little too loud. And he made the frog face again.