He wanted to agree, because he knew exactly how she felt. He gripped Jen by her shoulders and made her look at him. “This is wonderful, and no one would be happier than Lauren. Except maybe me.” He squinted at her. “You know, I’m thinking Josh is a beautiful name. It’s time for me to have a namesake, and I’m totally available as godfather.”

It wasn’t great patter, no. But he was trying. He could not let Jen feel anything but joy radiating from him. He had to look after her. She was his family.

“What if it’s a girl?” she said, taking in that shaking breath that meant she was done crying.

“Josie? Joshilyn? Joss? We can figure something out.”

She laughed, and Josh’s heart contracted. Lauren would appreciate that. She’d be grateful that he made her sister smile.

“Jen,” he said, “this thing about me being your brother-in-law, you being my sister-in-law . . .”

“Yeah?” she asked, frowning. “Don’t tell me you have a crush on me.”

“Well, of course I do,” he said, though he didn’t and never had, but this was how people connected, he understood, this light flirting and teasing. “But it gets complicated, explaining how we’re linked. Maybe I could . . .” He hesitated. “Maybe I could just call you my sister.”

Again her eyes filled with tears. “You’re the best, Josh,” she said, grabbing another cookie. “You’re the best. I always wanted a baby brother. I used to dress Lauren up in boy clothes, did you know that?”

When she left a while later, taking all the cookies at his insistence, he went into his bedroom, looked at the dogwood tree, which was obscenely healthy, and had a good cry.

THANK GOD FOR the internet. Josh ordered gifts for the kids, Jen and Darius (a gift certificate to a really nice restaurant with his own babysitting services thrown in), his mom, Donna, Radley and Sarah. He’d had to go out for coffee the other day, and every damn couple seemed pink-cheeked and healthy and in love, every family filled with the holiday spirit, happiness oozing out of them like radioactive sludge.

Not that he was bitter.

God, he was so bitter. A year ago, Lauren had needed to measure out her energy carefully, but they’d still done every Christmas tradition, baked dozens of cookies, listened to Christmas music ad nauseam, put out the reindeer throw pillows and Santa mugs. No one had told him it would be their last Christmas. No one told her.

He felt like an aging, brittle piece of paper that would disintegrate if touched. He stayed away from people as much as he could. However, he couldn’t avoid Christmas completely.