“She’s, um, a children’s book illustrator. She works from home, too. Does contract work with her accounting degree, so has a good income. She lives near the beach. Has a big family, lots of nieces and nephews. That’s nice. Cousins for Bug.”

“Bug?”

Jack shrugged sheepishly. “I was tired of saying ‘it’.”

“Okay, and third option for Bug, a mum and dad with two adopted kids.”

The chocolate milkshake in front of Jack was now half empty. He swirled his straw around absently. “They’re obviously invested in their kids. I like that Bug could have siblings. Bug’d also have experienced parents—that’s nice…”

“But?”

Jack was now stabbing his straw into the chocolate mess. “But…I don’t know. They have two kids. The other two have been waiting for ages for a kid. I think I’d rather give Bug to a family that had been waiting for ages.”

“Okay. That’s fine.” Cora slipped that folder down next to her on the booth seat. It was a hideous, fluorescent pink. Apparently, they were in a 1950s diner, but Jack had chosen it, and she hadn’t wanted to say no. At least the milkshakes were incredible—they tasted like her childhood. “Look at that, progress. Two left.”

Jack took a long sip on his straw again. His eyes studied the two folders Cora lined up in front of him. “Can’t you choose?” His voice was soft, and he didn’t look up.

Swallowing hard, Cora’s heart went out to him. “I’m sorry, Jack. This has got to be your decision.”

“If Tom wasn’t such an asshole, he could help me.”

That was true. It was unfair that the one with the uterus got stuck with the responsibility in these situations. “I know. But you’ll know what’s right.”

Jack threw his hands up. “I like both of them. The two Dads would be great, two supportive parents. I know Bug’d at least have open-minded parents. But the woman’s involved in PFLAG and is in a great situation. And the questions I sent them through the agency, uh, we sent, they all answered awesomely…” Groaning, Jack slumped across the table, shifting so his belly allowed the movement. He looked at Cora with round eyes, “Do you want a kid? I know you’re not crazy.”

Cora had to stop herself from snorting. “Trust me, I’m not the best thing for Bug.”

“Why? You’re married.” His eyes dropped to her ring finger. “Though why don’t you wear your rings?”

She wasn’t married. Or wouldn’t be. How did you explain to an eighteen-year-old that being an adult and married really didn’t mean you had your life together? “I never got in the habit, the hospital is gross and dirty, and we’re always washing our hands. I only wear them sometimes.”