I set the phone down, just as Abby slides hers from the
pocket of her jeans and starts furiously tapping the
screen. The intense concentration on her face morphs into a
scowl before she throws the phone onto the carpet near her
bedroom door in frustration.

“Yikes.” I raise my eyebrows at her.

“I want it on record that I did not want to talk to you
about this tonight,” she says fiercely.

I reach for the remote and pause her show. “Huh. You know,
I could almost have guessed that myself.”

“It’s not fair to dump this on you tonight after the
Warwick thing,” Abby exclaims.

“Dump what on—”

“Luca is making me tell you and I want you to know that
before I even…you know—” she exhales in frustration “—tell
you.”

“Okay,” I say, softening my tone. “This is all Luca’s
fault, got it. Now what is ‘this’?”

Abby squeezes her eyes shut very tight and draws in a deep
breath. When she finally speaks, her words tumble out so
close to one another it sounds like she’s saying one
ridiculously long word.

“I’ve-decided-to-have-a-baby-on-my-own-and-today-I-asked-
Luca-if-he-would-be-my-sperm-donor. I know this might seem
sudden, but I want you to trust me when I say that this is
what I need to do. And that’s final.”

When she opens her eyes again, a moment or two has passed,
but I’m still staring at her, slack-jawed at her
announcement. I think I’d have been less surprised if she
told me she was moving to Antarctica or that she’d decided
to shave her head.

Abby as a mom? Yes. I can very easily imagine that. I know
that on the bookshelf in her “cave,” she already has a
binder full of information about parenting, complete with
preferred schools for a hypothetical child, and a list of
possible baby names. She’s made no secret of the fact that
she desperately wants kids.

Abby as a single mom? Sure. She’s tough, caring and
capable.

But Abby choosing to be a single mom, at thirty years old?
Nothing about that makes sense. Abby has that damned binder
on her bookshelf precisely because she is the kind of
person who plans her life carefully and she’s been thinking
about her sickeningly stereotyped nuclear family forever.
It’s not just potential children she’s put an immense
amount of thought into—it’s also her potential future
husband, and the life she wants to build with him.

“But…” Even when my voice decides it’s ready to work again,
my brain is still catching up. It doesn’t matter, because
Abby silences me with a fierce wave of her hand.

“And it’s not something we’re going to discuss tonight
because you’ve had a tough day, it’s late and I’m feeling
very emotional about it and I’m not even close to being
ready to explain to you why this is happening. We’ll talk
about it in a few days when Luca has decided if he’s going
to do it. Okay? And don’t you even think about trying to
talk him out of it.”

“I’ve never been able to talk Luca in to or out of
anything, not that I’d do that to you, anyway,” I say
slowly. “I just don’t understand. You’ve always known
exactly the life you want for yourself. What happened to
the gamer husband you were going to find? What about the
house in the suburbs where you’re going to settle down?
What about the rescue dog named Charlie? How does…” I’m
struggling to even say the words. “How does Luca’s baby fit
into that picture?”

“It won’t be Luca’s baby,” Abby snaps at me, and leaps to
her feet. “This will be my baby. Luca will be the baby’s
annoying uncle, which is exactly what you will be, too. No
one will know any different but me and Luca and… Austin
and…” She groans in frustration. “Now you. End of story.”

I’ll respect her decision if she goes ahead with this. I’ll
support her all the way. How could I not? Abby is smart
enough to know what she wants, and strong enough to handle
all the challenges of parenthood, even on her own.

It’s just that the more her announcement sinks in, the less
I understand it. Abby is the least impulsive person I know—
if she’s seriously considering this, there’sgot to be
something more to the story. My suspicion is confirmed by
the glint of tears in her eyes. She blinks rapidly, but
it’s quickly apparent that she’s not going to be able to
control her emotions. Her face crumples even as she turns
away from me.

“I’m sorry to dump this on you tonight,” she chokes. “It’s
not fair that you have to deal with Warwick and now this…”

“Abs,” I say, bewildered. “You aren’t dumping anything on
me. Please sit back down and talk to me, help me understand
—”

“I can’t talk to you about this yet,” she whispers. “Please
just respect my decision and I’ll explain when I… I’ll talk
to you about it when I’m ready.”

“But…”

I rise, too, ready to pull her into my arms, but she shakes
her head and jogs quickly to her bedroom. Before I can even
take a step, her bedroom door slams shut.

The sound echoes through the apartment—an undeniable full
stop on