Skylar and Sebastian had twins, a boy and a girl, that I guessed were around three. Add the Fourniers’ three children to the mix, and the picnic-style table in the kitchen was pure chaos. One parent or another was always getting up from the dining room table to go cut someone’s meat or wipe up a spill or put an end to an argument. Still, I envied that too. It was hard not to notice I was the only single, childless person at the adult table. At least nobody asked about Renee.

After dinner, the grownups sat around in the large great room with coffee and dessert while the kids played games on the floor near the Christmas tree. Around eight, the other two families packed up and said goodnight, but Lucas asked me to stick around. “Just let me help get the monkeys in bed, and I’ll be right back down. Make yourself at home.”

“No hurry,” I said, watching him leave the room with his son on his back. Mia had already taken the other two upstairs.

While he was gone, I tortured myself by scrolling through social media on my phone, looking at everyone’s joyful Christmas morning photos. It made me feel worse, of course, so I put away my phone and wondered if I should make up an excuse and leave. I was so sick of feeling like the odd man out everywhere I went—even the fucking internet.

But just as I was about to stand up, Lucas returned with a bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other. “Done,” he said. “So how about some scotch?”

“Sounds good.”

He poured and handed one glass to me. “I’m glad you came tonight. I wasn’t sure you would.”

I shrugged, tilting my scotch this way and that, watching the legs of the amber liquid coat the glass. “I thought about canceling. But I didn’t want to be an asshole.”

“Since when?”

I gave his grinning face the finger.

“Seriously,” he went on. “Mia and I are glad you’re here. You’ve been such a hermit lately.”

“Yeah, well . . . I’ve been busy at work.”

“Really? Or are you just working yourself into the ground to avoid dealing with your issues?”

I gave him an irritated look. Lucas had been a psychology major and had taught college psych for a few years. Sometimes he fell back into the habit of analyzing people.

“Look, you can tell me to fuck off, but if you want to talk or whatever, I’m here.”

Instead of responding, I took another sip of my scotch.

“Is that ‘fuck off, Lucas’?

I managed a wry smile. “It’s close.”

“Okay, fine. If you tell me you’re okay, I’ll believe you and leave you the hell alone.”