He smirked. “Okay, well, I mean, I don’t know. It wouldn’t be the first one I’ve gotten in the past few years. I’m not totally unlovable.”

I shook my head, but he was right. He wasn’t. Sometimes when you’ve known someone his whole life, you forget that his blue eyes are incredibly soulful and his tousled hair is both boyish and manly at the same time. “I found out something that I shouldn’t know, and I shouldn’t tell you, but I feel like I have to.” I paused. “There’s an off chance that you don’t want to know or that you already know, and that I’m sticking my nose in where it isn’t—”

“For God’s sake, Amelia, spit it out,” Parker said.

“Wanted,” I whispered. I bit my lip. I wanted to stall, to rewind and figure out how to deliver this news tactfully, with grace. But he was right in front of me, so that seemed more than a little out of the question now. For half a beat, I wondered if, when the dust settled, Parker would let me interview him for my story. But I scolded myself. This was more important than any story.

“Look, I was reporting on what people do when they don’t use their embryos, and I sort of accidentally saw that your embryos are on the abandoned list. And maybe you’re ignoring them and quit paying for storage on purpose, and that’s fine…”

I rambled while he looked at me blankly.

“You know,” I added, “the embryos that you and Greer froze—”

“I know which embryos,” he practically spat.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

He pulled out his phone, which I thought was an odd reaction. I thought maybe I should leave. But then he said, “Yes. This is Parker Thaysden, and I want to check on my embryos. I wasn’t sure if there was an invoice I missed or something.” He paused. “They are not abandoned,” he said, venom in his voice. “Uh-huh. Well, yeah. It would be hard for Mrs. Thaysden to return your calls from that number, since she has been dead for three years.” He rolled his eyes.

He pulled out his wallet, removed his credit card, read off the numbers, and then hung up the phone. He looked at me, but I could tell he wasn’t seeing me. “What now?” he asked.

It was not the response I was imagining. “What do you mean, what now? I have absolutely no idea.”

“I can’t destroy them,” he said. “They’re all I have left of her.”

“You could adopt them out,” I suggested warily.

He shot me a look. “Are you serious? They’re Greer’s. I can’t give them to a stranger.”

I shook my head. “Well,” I said quietly, “there are a lot of people who donate theirs to science. I bet they could be used for something really targeted, maybe even ovarian cancer research, something that would honor Greer’s memory.”

Parker nodded. He leaned forward and rubbed his temples. “Maybe so,” he said.