I balk a little at this. “ ‘Sure, babe’?”

With a groan, Sean rolls to my side. “Isn’t it what you want? I mean,” he says, “I’ve been married. I know what’s great about it, and what’s not so great about it. But if you want it—”

I stop him, holding up a hand. “Do you remember how it happened?”

He thinks for a beat. “You mean, the night we talked about it?”

I nod, although “the night we talked about it” isn’t the most apt description. After a fun night out at the movies with Phoebe, we’d tucked her in bed, then Sean took me to his room, made a satisfied woman out of me, and then mumbled, “Phoebe thinks we should get married,” before he fell asleep between my boobs.

He remembered the next morning, and asked if I’d heard him.

Confused at first, I’d finally said, “I heard you.”

“For Phoebe,” he’d said. “If we’re doing this, I want to do it full-on.”

We didn’t have time to talk about it then, because I had to leave for the hospital, but the words seemed to loop in my head like a song all day. If we’re doing this, I want to do it full-on.

Looking back, all I can really remember is the overwhelming relief I felt at the prospect of having that bit of my life sorted with such convenience. There was nothing messy or turbulent about it. There were no manic highs with Sean, but there were no angst-ridden lows, either. Sean was easy, and he and Phoebe were a family I could just . . . join. But in hindsight and in the stark contrast to the intensity of emotions I feel around Elliot, it almost seems insane that I came home later that day and gave Sean an enthusiastic yes.

We certainly haven’t done a lot more planning since then. We still haven’t picked out a ring, probably because we both realized that Phoebe doesn’t seem to be that concerned after all about the woman in her house, and whether that woman is going to be her new mommy.

The only person who consistently asks where we are with the plan is Sabrina, and she is the one person who has said outright that she thinks this whole thing is a farce.

Sean runs a hand over my hip. “Babe, I think you need to figure out what you want.”

I meet his eyes. “What I want?”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Me, Elliot, neither of us.”

And who does this? Who is so unaffected by the potential loss of his fiancée that he can suggest I give this some good thought while casually stroking my hip, suggesting the relationship may end but the sex can still happen?

“Does it matter to you that things are obviously so weird between us?”

Sean moves his hand away, closing his eyes with another long sigh. “Of course it matters to me. But I’ve been through these ups and downs, and I just can’t let them rule me. I can’t control what you’re feeling.”