And for the first time in my life, my little sister launches herself into my arms. The weight of her reminds me so much of Ty that I can barely breathe around the lump in my throat. She sobs bitterly against my chest. The blood roars in my ears.

You and me. That’ll never change, Papa Bear.

But it will, won’t it?

It already is.

“Twins,” Otter says from somewhere behind us. He sounds just stupid with awe, and through the haze, I am barely grasping what he’s saying. “Jesus Christ. We’re having twins?”

WELL.

Okay, then.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck—

THE DOORBELL rings again a couple of hours later and startles the shit out of Otter and me from where we are staring blankly in the kitchen, my little sister sleeping in Tyson’s bed somewhere above us, freshly washed and fed. Her eyes had closed the moment her head hit the pillow, Otter and I standing above her, unsure of what the hell else to do aside from closing the door behind us and walking back down the stairs to the kitchen, where we stood now, both of us uttering a word or two but unable to follow it up with anything coherent. There are things we should be saying, things we should be doing, but for the life of me, I can’t find the words to actually say any of it.

So when the doorbell rings, we both jump, laughing weakly at ourselves, but then almost knock each other over as we run for the door.

Otter wins, only because he accidentally knocks me against the wall near the living room.

He even looks vaguely apologetic as he opens the door.

Megan Ridley stands on the porch of the Green Monstrosity, smiling a little nervously at the sight of us. “Hey, guys,” she says, and I swear her stomach is twice as big as it’d been when we saw her two weeks before.

And we probably don’t help her nerves by standing there, blocking the doorway, staring directly at her belly.

“Did I break you both?” she asks, laughing a little.

“Um,” Otter says. “No.”

“Maybe,” I blurt out. “Just—are you sure?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, so a little broken. Okay, I can deal with that. Are you going to let me in? The color of your house is hurting my feelings, and it’s hot out. Like, I have boob sweat right now, okay? And I just drove an hour to get here to make sure you two weren’t freaking out, given the sounds you were making on the phone. But seriously, you have lived here how long and you’ve never thought about changing the color? I may have to keep both of the babies.”

We gape at her.

Her eyes widen. “Oh my god, that was just a joke. I’m not going to keep them. I swear! These twins are yours. I’m just an incubator.”

“Twins,” Otter says faintly.