Malcolm has always been open about wanting kids. Family is one of the most important things to him. His parents, who are the epitome of delightful eccentrics and utterly devoted to him, planned to have only one child and that’s precisely what they did. Everything they do has to be on schedule. Joy spent Thanksgiving with Malcolm’s family the year they graduated college, and when she mentioned feeling a little lost and aimless in life, his mom laid out the entirety of her own life plan, complete with pictures. Finish undergrad at twenty-two, grad school at twenty-five, marriage at twenty-six, buy her first home at thirty, and become a mom at thirty-two. She ended up being off by one year—she had Malcolm at thirty-three.

It’s no wonder Malcolm is the way he is.

Starting his own family has been at the top of his to-do list for a few years now.

Up until that second, Joy felt like she stood a chance. Malcolm loves her and she has a lot to offer a partner—she’s funny, supportive, responsible, thoughtful—all excellent qualities. Not to mention, she knows how to present herself. Beauty isn’t solely based on facial symmetry, tiny noses, huge eyes, and impossible bone structures. For Joy, it’s a total package: confidence, presence, style, and execution. Plus, Malcolm thinks she’s beautiful. Not pretty. Not cute. Beautiful. Sometimes she’ll catch him staring at her and when she asks why, he says, “Because you’re beautiful,” with a completely straight face like it’s a fact.

But kids? Kids? Not only have they discussed Joy’s one true adult kryptonite, but they’re also on the same page.

The last time Malcolm had talked to Joy about wanting kids, he asked her if she did, and she answered honestly: she didn’t know. She’s thought about that moment ever since. Because maybe that had been The Moment—the second he decided Joy wasn’t The One. Not being sure about kids was a deal breaker for him.

Dark, bleak feelings begin clawing at Joy’s edges again. Ready to pull her under, ready to make her shut down and stop feeling. Her brain does it to protect her, but it never stops feeling like a betrayal. She needs to think, she needs to plan, she has to find a way to make this work—

“Are we there yet?” Fox grumbles.

Joy nearly smiles at the sight of him. He’s taken his sunglasses off and is pouting like a grumpy old man.

Malcolm mutters, “Does it look like we are?”

“Nearly.” Summer holds up the map. The path to the cabin has been highlighted in yellow and she points to a red tick mark not too far from a giant green circle near a lake. “We just passed the last marker. We’re two exits away from getting off the freeway.”

“Thanks, Summer.”