She grimaces. “Darn. I am so breaking protocol. You really can’t tell the surrogacy center about this. I’ll be blacklisted for life. I figure I can get pregnant three or four more times. My boyfriend likes me pregnant.”

“Your boyfriend has a pregnancy kink?” I demand, outraged. “Those are my children in there.”

She shrugs. “Hey, I don’t judge. And neither should you. It’s our thing. I’m sure you and Otter have kinks too.”

“We don’t,” I retort. “We’re very vanilla.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Otter says. “I mean, we do that one thing with the—why the hell are we talking about this. You know what sex the new one is?”

The new one. Jesus Christ.

She nods, chewing on her bottom lip.

Otter and I look at each other for a long time. We hadn’t planned on finding out, wanting to be surprised, but Megan, bless her heart, had accidentally let slip that we were having a boy a couple of weeks ago. It wasn’t a bad thing, especially with the look on Otter’s face at hearing that. And she is right here in front of us, all pregnant and everything, and we could just—

Two things happen at once.

A thump comes from upstairs.

The doorbell rings.

Megan looks up toward the ceiling. “Someone else here?”

“Yes,” I say without thinking. “My estranged mother died and my little sister who I’ve never met before showed up on our doorstep wanting to live with us.”

“And that’s my parents,” Otter says, craning his neck to look out the front window. “Early, as usual. Oh, by the way, can you do us a favor? We haven’t told anyone you exist yet, so just… don’t exist.”

Megan gapes at us as we stand at the same time.

I don’t even want to know what she’s thinking.

“Mom, Dad,” Otter says as he opens the front door. “You’re early. Again.”

“Oh, pish posh,” Alice Thompson says breezily as she pushes her way inside. “A lady is never early. She arrives precisely when she is meant to.” She kisses me on the cheek as she passes me by. She thrusts the box she’s carrying into my arms. It’s heavier than I thought it would be, and I almost drop it. It’s loaded with a Crock-Pot filled with meatballs, and other dishes.

“We just wanted to make sure we were here before Tyson got home,” Jerry Thompson said, sounding apologetic. “And those meatballs need time to cook, anyway. They’re meatless. Meatless meatballs.” He shakes his head. “What will they think of next?”

“You let her cook?” Otter hisses as his mother sashays toward the kitchen. “You know what happens when she does that.”

Jerry snorts. “Son, if you think she needs my permission to do anything, you’re not paying attention.”

We follow them helplessly to the kitchen.

“Bear,” Alice says. “Set the box on the counter, okay? I need to get started—hello. Who might you be?”