I forgot that it was Dylan and Charles’s joint groom shower until about forty-five minutes ago when Dylan texted me. I threw on some clothes and arrived half an hour late. I gave an impromptu speech that was mostly cribbed from the TITMH Freelancer’s Handbook. But judging by the smiles, it was either coherent enough or everyone was already too buzzed to care.

I feel like I’m off the hook and can spend the rest of the party quietly finding a corner to blend into, willing the intricate, hand-cut paper decorations hanging from Dylan and Charles’s ceiling—all sorts of animals, from cranes to tigers to peacocks—to make a staggeringly vital life decision for me.

It works for about two minutes before both Dylan and Aisha come to corner me. “Thanks for the speech,” Dylan says.

“Yeah. Nice one,” Aisha says, eyebrows raised, because of course she knows exactly where most of it came from.

“No problem,” I reply. “Great party.”

“Anyway,” Dylan says. “Can we talk about you now? Are you okay?”

I’d texted both Aisha and Dylan within minutes of Jordan leaving my apartment and begging me to please think everything over. But then, after a few of their exclamations and threats that they’d disown me if I even thought about taking Jordan back (Aisha, of course), I told them I needed some time to sort things out before I could really discuss it. And I hadn’t answered anyone’s calls or texts since. Not theirs. Not Zoey’s, I think with a pang. Not until Dylan’s reminder that it was their shower today.

The problem is I haven’t sorted anything out at all. My mind is just as jumbled as it was six days ago.

“I guess . . . I’m not really okay,” I admit to Dylan and Aisha. “I honestly don’t know what to do.” I run my hands through my hair. “I know it’s easy for you guys to tell me to leave Jordan. But we have history. And maybe . . . a future.”

“But they’re not your kids,” Aisha says gently.

“But she said she wants them to be . . .” I sigh. “Maybe I want them to be. Maybe this is my last chance to have a family.”

“What about Zoey? I think you’re in love with her,” Aisha says.

I look around at all the decorations, at the manifestation of love that is this party, even at Charles so giddily laughing at something with one of his friends. And how can I deny it? “Of course I am. With everything about her. Everything except . . . she told me she probably doesn’t ever want to have kids.”

“She told you that?” Dylan asks.

“When?” Aisha chimes in. “In what context?”

“In the context that I said I could think of a million reasons to have kids, couldn’t she? And she said, not really.”