I nodded. I’d been fishing offshore with those three guys, my best buddies, with our dads since we were three, and by ourselves since we were fifteen—which, in retrospect, was too young. If you can’t drive a car, you probably shouldn’t be able to take a Sportfish thirty miles out into the ocean. “Want me to bring fried chicken or sandwiches?” This was our ritual. Melon, sandwiches, fried chicken, and someone’s mom’s brownies. Well, now, someone’s wife’s brownies.

He winked at me. “Just beer.”

I made eye contact with Amelia, who was sipping lemonade and laughing with Mary Lou Jackson. She smiled apologetically, and I walked toward her. Kind of like when neighbors bond over a natural disaster or a shitty landlord, we had been thrust together. She was the only breathing person who knew my current situation.

I wasn’t ready to broach the topic with my parents. My dad, who I was positive had never changed a diaper, would think I had lost my mind. My mother, who had raised me to be the kind of man my dad was, would think I wasn’t capable. I couldn’t take that energy right now. Not when this idea was so fresh and new. It wasn’t real yet, and it never had to be real. I could just think about it and feel happy.

Mary Lou slyly walked away as I made my way toward Amelia. “Am I crazy?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Damn,” she said. “So you are thinking about it! I knew it.”

I felt a prickle of happiness like that really great feeling you get from a big idea, like starting a new business or building a new house. You haven’t considered yet how much work it might be, how hard it might be, how much your life is going to change. You just feel the good parts. That’s where I was.

“They’re half of her, Lia,” I said. “I have four little babies waiting for me that are half-Greer.”

She sighed. “Parker, you’re being dramatic.”

I looked at her skeptically.

“Parker, look,” she continued. “One of the things everyone loves about you is that you’re a romantic. You see the starry-eyed version of the truth. But come on. You’re young. You’ll remarry. You’ll have babies with a new love. If you do this, it’ll prevent that. You’ll never want to move on.”

“I don’t want to move on,” I said, feeling indignant.

She took a sip of her lemonade and shrugged. “I can’t be responsible for this. I mean, you’re going to do what? Hire a surrogate? Quit your job and stay home with kids?”

I hadn’t thought of that yet. Stupid logistics licked the red off my candy. I couldn’t really see being a stay-at-home dad. But Greer wouldn’t have been a stay-at-home mom, either, so that didn’t matter.

“And what if you have girls? What are you going to do when they get their period?”

I laughed. “I’m sorry. What?”

“Well, it’s just an example. There are all these mom things that happen in life that you aren’t going to be able to give your kids.”