The doorbell rang at midnight, and my head popped up. I slammed my book shut and ran down the stairs just as Dawn was rushing out of her room. The two of us ran right into Jeff as he opened the door.

Keshawn was dragging Stacey through the door, her heels scraping over the kickplate as she struggled away from his hands. "Lemme go," she slurred, slapping her cheek against the door as she stumbled into the house. "He's very grabby," Stacey snapped, pointing back at him as she flopped onto the couch.

"You were kinda violent," he said, narrowing his eyes at her. He looked at me and rolled his eyes. "I found her at the shadiest bar in town—the only one that'll serve underagers? You know, Hepatitis Larry's?"

I tried not to grin. "Classy. Did you call Logan, tell him that you found her?"

"Yeah, him and Todd. Todd—what a waste. He went into Circle to check for her and decided to have a little time out for a beer or four. He said the new bartender's a babe," he noted with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Stacey blew a raspberry at us. "You guys do not know how to have any kind of fun," she said, her eyes slumping down. "I coudda gone for another hour, two? Six! I had six shots," she announced, bouncing back up. She mimicked slamming down a glass and giggled. "Drinking is so fun! Why haven't I done it before?"

"Because your body can't handle it," Dawn moaned, hurrying over to Stacey's feet. She looked back at the three of us standing by the door and ordered, "Mary Anne, go get Stacey's blood sugar test stuff—it's in her purse. And her insulin kit, that's the red case. Jeff, I need some water, okay?" I grabbed Stacey's purse and came over to the girls, setting the cases at the floor next to my sister before treating back to Keshawn in the foyer. Far away from it all.

Batting Dawn away, Stacey hissed, "Donchoo be doing shit for me. You are such a dirty slut. How could you, huh?"

"I'm sorry," Dawn whimpered, dropping her head on Stacey's leg. "Stace, come on, you know that I'm sorry."

"So you know why I hate you so much, my blood? It wants to just, like, poof," Stacey said, flashing her fingers in the air. She recoiled from my sister, sliding away down the cushions. "'Cause you knew better. God damn you, you knew better!"

"But—you can be angry at me, I know, be mad at me, but you have to forgive me," Dawn begged. "I do so much shit to May, and she forgives me. Why can't you understand, I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't!"

"May forgives you because she's still the little girl in seventh grade who had no one else to sit with at lunch but you. Remember? She was going to sit alone when the Club had the huge fight? But there you were. You saved her from being all alone. Poor May, all alone," Stacey pouted, running a finger down her cheek. "And then! You saved her from being all alone with her dad, her precious sister. And so she's always gonna take you back. Haven't we learned that about Mary Anne? She'll always take you back. Where's Lee? Where is he, Example Number Two, where are you?" Stacey sang, glancing around the room. She giggled and bumped her head against the armrest. "May's a sad little girl under it all, but I'm not. So go fuck yourself, and then go fuck my professor since you're so damned good at it."

"She's trashed, and it's awesome," Keshawn whispered in my ear as Dawn continued to beg.

I elbowed him. "This isn't some show for you, Shawn." I rubbed my hands over my eyes. "Thanks for helping find her."

He shrugged. "What else was I doing tonight? Other than some underage drinking of my own. I think I'll head on over to Circle, see if I can flirt my way into a couple of Coronas."

"Why don't you call Erin, see if she wants to come out with you?" I suggested with a bright smile.

He frowned, licking his lips and tightening his mouth before saying, "Listen, I get that you want to set me up with her and all? And she's fun and cute and whatever, but she's kinda…pretentious? Always showing off that she's so damned smart or at least, that she's so much smarter than me. I'll give her a call when she's not barfing up her Duke pedigree, 'kay?"

"You think she's cute?" I gasped, grabbing his hand.

"Mary Anne? Chill," he said, patting my head. "Tell Lo I'll see him in the morning." He opened up the door and called back to the living room, "It was nice getting to know you and your flailing arms, Stacey."

"You wanna hook up? Let's do it," Stacey purred, leaping to her feet. Her ankles bent in, though, and she collapsed on the carpet. "Come on, I can be a slut just like Dawn."

"Go," I told him, shoving him out of the house. I walked over to Stacey and helped her back up to her feet. "Stacey, that's enough."

"Don't be a bitch to my sister," Jeff added, thrusting a cup of water at Dawn.

Stacey gulped down the glass and then tossed it onto the floor. It made a dull thunk before rolling towards Dawn's feet. My sister held it in her hands as Stacey glared at Jeff. "So. I gotta be nice to this bitch, but…you can be a real fucking jackass to May? That's so fair! Oh, my gosh, yes! What a fantastic world you've created! Maybe I should run from my problems like you, Jeffie," she said, wrinkling up her nose like a rabbit. Jeff glanced at me and then down at his feet.

"You need to test your blood, Stacey," Dawn whispered.

Stacey leaned down and grabbed the leather cases. "Screw you, I know what to do for myself. I'm going upstairs—don't you dare follow me," she demanded, "You can go sleep outside. Or maybe in May and Logan's room in J.D.'s crate. That's a perfect place."

She stalked up the stairs, her feet thudding on each step, before slamming the door to their bedroom shut. The pictures in the living room stammered with the force of it.

I sighed. "You can sleep here on the pull-out couch, Dawn." But she didn't answer; she just grabbed an afghan that I knitted and wrapped it around her body, turning her face to the back of the couch. "Dawn, do you want me to—"

"Go away," she sniffed, burrowing closer to the cushions.

Jeff grabbed my arm. "Give her space," he said in a low voice. And he pulled me out of the room as Dawn began to cry. I shook Jeff's hand off of me, and I ran up to my room. I went over to the armchair and grabbed my old teddy bear J.B., the one I used to clutch during chemotherapy. That I would bring with me when I was able to start treatment again. I went back downstairs and crept up to my sister.

"Dawnie?" I whispered, but she didn't turn around. "Um, I thought you might need a little…something to hold." I nudged her with the bear, and then set it against the plank of her back. As I walked away, I heard the rustle of her body; I peeked around the wall of the stairs and saw that she had curled around J.B., sobbing into the soft fur of its head. Logan had bought that for me, a bear that wouldn't rip apart, no matter how much abuse I gave it.

It could hold the weight of Dawn's tears, too. Though I wish she would just turn to me.

But I gave her my bear, and I gave her space, retreating back to my room. I stripped off my dress, walking to the dresser, and I ran my finger over the blue negligee that Dawn had chosen for me. I hadn't worn it yet, and I hadn't put on the white gown that I knew would drop my husband right down to his knees. Not yet, it wasn't right yet. Instead, I opened one of his drawers and yanked out one of his work out shirts, breathing deep the faint golded smell of ginger that always hung on his clothes.

By the time he came home, I was curling into sleep. I heard Logan moving around the room for a few minutes before he slid into bed. As his arms folded me against him, he asked, "So, Shawn brought her home okay?"

"Oh, sure, she got home just fine. And then it was like Nagasaki right in the living room. Stacey's furious at Dawn, and it seems like it's not just the whole Dr. Collins thing. It's, like, this means a lot more to her? And it's scary because I have never, ever seen them fight in—holy crap, they haven't fought in six years, angel. That's an eternity."

"We haven't fought in a long time," he pointed out. "Maybe Stace and Dawn should have taken public speaking back at SHS. Fostered strong communication skills and all."

I giggled, turning slightly to kiss his cheek. "Don't be silly. This is really bad. Sharon's coming back for lunch? So I hope that she'll mediate this one on out."

"What time is the wedding?" he asked, settling his leg over my hip.

I reached down and rubbed his thigh. "Three. So, I'm gonna be dressed for it during lunch, as should you."

"Fair enough," he shrugged. There was a silence, and his breath roped over my ear. "I emailed Dr. Paves this morning. I asked her if she would have lunch with me on Sunday, and she said yes. I just want to talk some stuff over with her. Is that okay?"

"Of course," I nodded, but I looked back at him again. "About me?"

"No—well, kind of? I mean, we'll talk things out with Sarah, she's your therapist now, right, but I just…want to talk about the babies with her. She knows all of the shit with my family, I don't want to have to do exposition and back-story. I just want to go to someone who knows and say, Here's how it is now. Help me work out a battle plan," he stated.

"That's very grown up of you," I murmured.

"I've gotta be," he said. "It's not just me anymore. It's you, and it's them—or it, or whatever. I need to talk that out with her, too."

"Of course," I replied. I blinked, though, as he pulled away from me and got out of bed. In the silver shine of the moonlight peeking through the sides of the shades, his body looked ghostly, a sylph gliding through the room. He bent down to grab something out of the closet and came back to the bed, holding something out to me. I frowned, taking the bag from him. "What is this?"

"Open it," he urged, crouching next to the bed. I pulled the bag open and tugged out two books.

My breath jumped into my throat as I whirled up in to a sit. "Pat the Bunny!" I exclaimed, holding the book to the flat shelf of my chest. "Oh, I was going to buy this, Logan, good on you. We need to get Goodnight, Moon, too." I tapped it on his head as he beamed and pointed to the picture book still in my lap. "Guess How Much I Love You," I read, running my hand over the cover.

He shrugged. "I was in a bunny theme, I guess. It's two happy rabbits. I'm a sucker for happy bunnies. Lots of good Easter memories."

I flipped through the book, angling the pages into the pale light of the night. "I love you to the moon and back," I breathed, tracing the illustration with my fingers. "Oh, angel. I'm glad you were in a bunny theme." I put my hands on his face and kissed him before flipping my body to reach under the bed. "Here, here, I got something, too."

The shopping bag was smaller than his, and it let out a soft wrinkling sound as he reached inside and pulled out a little bundle the color of lemons. Logan let the yellow fabric fall open, a small towel with a duck's head emerging from a corner. "You fold the baby in and make it a duck," he grinned. "Make way for duckling. Oh, we need to get that, too." But then he fell quiet, wrapping the soft terry cloth around his hands and holding it to his heart, sinking back down on his heels. I put my hand on his head and circled over the downy lawn of his hair as he sat there, swallowing over and over again, that smile creeping larger on his face.

He shifted forward and spread the towel over my lap as he lifted my shirt. Logan knocked the duck's head against my stomach. "Hey. Hey," he called in a quiet voice. "How you doin' in there?"

I put my hand on his and pressed it to my belly. "Totally bored," I giggled. "But fascinated by how strange our family is."

"Or traumatized. You're never coming out, are you?" he sighed. His eyes caught mine. "You. Them?" His face tensed and twitched. "Pretty girl? I'm so confused. I want them both, but I can't stop—"

"I know," I breathed, sighing onto his body as he put his head in my lap, so close to them. Did they feel him? Did they know how much we loved them already and how much it hurt? "I know."

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"How do I look?" I asked him.

"Like I want to take that dress off of you again," Logan said, grabbing at the hem.

I swatted his hands away. "No. One is all you get," I giggled, grabbing the jewelry box with my earrings. I plopped down on the bed and carefully pulled out one of the small studs, feeding it through the hole in my lobe. I had pierced my ears back in high school, but it was always a thrill to feed the stems of an earring into my skin.

Barbara had been with me, squealing as I shrieked at the sound of the piercing gun.

Pushing the back in place, I winked at him. "Have I told you again that I love my Christmas present?"

"Just every time," he smiled, tugging the tie around his neck. "I'm so glad you love them. I wanted to really show you how much you meant to me during the whole rehab deal. You were so kind, even when I was at my most whiny and pitiful. Which was pretty much every day," he mumbled, his hand drifting up to his shoulder.

"Yeah, well, I'm not saying that diamonds weren't a fabulous thank you, but I didn't need them," I said, tipping my eyes to the ceiling as I put in the other stud. "We're a team. And it was my turn to carry the load for us, angel."

"I like it when we share," he replied with a crisp nod, snaking the tail of the tie through its knot and tightening it into place. He stood up and smoothed his hands down the front of his shirt. "Do I look decent enough to go to a wedding where we won't be able to understand one damn word?"

"Dr. Paves said there would be a translation card available for the dozen of us gringos," I clucked. "And you, husband, look good enough to marry."

He tucked a curl behind my ear and bent down to kiss me. "Well, we can always corral the priest and have him do it all over again."

"I'll slip him a fiver," I laughed, standing up and walking to the mirror. I tugged the dress down, running my fingers over the soft lavender shade. I twisted the yellow stones in my ear and smiled at my reflection. Look how good you look, Mary Anne. Shake it off.

Shake off that odd hollow feeling that was creeping into my bones, a fatigue that left me so heavy that it took an hour to convince myself to wake up. Shake off that strange thickness that layered in my head, cottoning over my ability to think about anything other than not moving. It was only when Logan came back from his workout and put his hands on my forehead, asking, "Are you okay?" that I was finally able to spring into life.

"You don't have to pretend with me," he sighed.

"I know—but you're motivating me to get out of bed, right?" I replied. He tipped his head back and forth as I hurried to the bathroom, staring at the shut door that led to Stacey. It was eleven in the morning, and she hadn't left her room, either.

I tapped on the door. "Stace?"

"Sleeping—stupid alcohol," she groaned. And I rolled my eyes, heading to the shower. When I walked by the door again, there was the soft sound of snoring floating from under the door. So I got dressed.

And then undressed and dressed again.

"Mary Anne!" Sharon was yelling. "Dawnie and I just put lunch on the table. Can you get Stacey and Logan?"

"Can I get you?" I asked, turning back at him.

"I suppose," he shrugged, grabbing his suit coat from the armchair. He waited for me as I knocked on Stacey's door. Nothing.

"Stacey?" I called. "Lunch."

"I'd rather eat my own flesh than sit with Dawn," she trilled.

I let out a noisy exhale and looked back at Logan with an annoyed twist on my mouth. He glared at the door and stalked over, banging it on and making it yelp against the wood of the frame. "Anastacia McGill, getcher ass outta there, or else you can find your own damn place to live for the rest of the summer. Where you'd have to pay rent, for the record."

A moment later, Stacey jerked the door open. "Tight ass," she grunted, moving past us and down the stairs. She slumped into one of the high backed chairs as Sharon sat to the left with Dawn on her side. Jeff took the other chair, so I slipped onto the other bench next to my husband. Distance between me and my brother.

"Did you two have a good morning?" Sharon asked, looking at the two guys.

"Totally," Jeff gushed. "We took a run through campus, and then they showed me their workout, and it's so hard. It's gonna make me so ripped by the end of the summer." Jeff spooned a large helping of pasta salad on his plate as he glanced at me. "Did you two talk yet?"

"About?" Logan prompted, taking the bowl from Jeff.

"Me staying for a couple more weeks," Jeff answered. "I will be Handyman Extraordinaire. I'll take care of the lawn and all of the housework. This place will be so clean, you'll be able to make the toilet into a punch bowl. Come on—I really want to keep watching Logan's training and, like, be with Dawn," he added, shuffling his fork over his plate.

Sharon narrowed her eyes at him, but she glanced up at Logan and me after a moment. "This is your decision. And don't feel obligated to say yes. I was hoping that he'd come home—I mean, when this AAU thing starts, I'll barely have any time with you, Jeff."

"Come on, guys, say yes," Dawn wheedled.

"Don't pressure them," Stacey snapped. "It's their house, not yours."

"Oh, yeah? Then maybe they should tell you to not take over the bedroom—Dawn couldn't get any work done this morning because you were holding all of her stuff hostage," Jeff shot back, filling his mouth with food.

"Guys!" I yelled. "Cool it!" I looked up at Logan and shrugged. "It's your call. I honestly don't care. Your scholarship is paying for the place. I think it's your decision."

Logan sighed, putting down his knife in mid-stroke. "Well, okay. Jeff, if Mary Anne says that you've been a dick to her again, it's done. I will bounce your ass outta here so quick, you're gonna think you're a ball. Understand?"

"Yes," Jeff mumbled, his eyes dashing from the two of us down to his lap. "I appreciate it, thank you."

"Whatever," Logan replied. "It's important to her that you two get to know each other. Otherwise, I'd have Sharon take you home now. So, thank Mary Anne."

"Thanks, Mary Anne," Jeff said. He looked at his mother. "Mom and I talked it over, about my behavior. And I want to apologize. Lashing out is kinda a Schafer trademark. I'm sorry." Sharon smiled at him, and he gave a weak grin back.

Whatever, I thought, stabbing a piece of chicken. Jeff didn't want to apologize—he just wanted to stay here. Here, which was not there: California. Why was he so desperate to stay away from his father and stepmother? I stared at him for as long as I dared before taking another bite.

We ate in silence for a long while before Dawn sighed. "Stacey?"

"Don't," Stacey said, wiping her mouth with her napkin. "Don't even."

"Can I at least go into the bedroom?" Dawn asked, pulling on the neck of her shirt. "I need to change, I need to get my stuff."

Stacey gave her a grin so false that my teeth ached. "Oh, sure you can," she chirped. "You can have the room, actually. I'm gonna move on down to the bomb shelter. Jeff can share with you, and maybe you can figure out a way to stab him in the back."

"You're gonna live in the basement," Logan said slowly. "Are you nuts?"

"Nope," Stacey protested. "It's quiet, I can get a lot of work done, and I can come in and out of this door," she said, pointing at the sliding door in the dining room, "without having to see Dawn. Unlike the other guests in this home, I will be respectful and well-behaved. A blithe spirit of a house mate, as it were." She grabbed a grape and popped it into her mouth.

"You're just going to avoid me," Dawn spat.

Stacey nodded. "After this lunch? You don't exist in Staceyworld. I'm sure that Mary Anneland will be happy to give you a working visa, though. Right, May?"

"Stacey," I warned. "I don't want to get into your fight. Since you don't want me to," I added in a sharp tone.

"Exactly, it's none of your business," she said lightly.

Sharon rubbed her forehead. "You girls are acting like you are thirteen years old."

"No offense, Sharon? But your husband had a temper tantrum and committed domestic violence on his own daughter. I don't think you get to tell me who is acting childish or not," Stacey retorted. She grabbed her plate and glanced around the table. "I think I've said enough. I'm gonna take this upstairs, pack on up, and move. Jeff? If you wouldn't mind helping me, you can have yourself a real place to sleep within twenty minutes."

Jeff looked at Dawn, who waved him to follow. After the two of them left the table, Dawn slumped against her mother. "I thought she'd have relaxed by now," Dawn cried, wringing her eyes closed. "Mom, what do I do?"

"I don't know," Sharon murmured, stroking Dawn's hair. "You can't press it—you know how Stacey shuts down. Just pull back, let her have the space she wants. Live and let live."

"Not with her," Dawn sniffed. "She's my light, Mom. She's been my best friend for so long, I don't know what I'll do without her to talk to every day."

"You can talk to me," I offered. I bit my lip and looked down at my lap, at the hand that Logan had laid there. I put my fingers over his and took a deep breath. "I can't be Stacey, but I can be that person for you, if you want."

Dawn just looked at me, blinking in almost lazy way. "Yeah," she whispered, gazing at me. "I'd like that."

Maybe she would tell me what was going on.

Or maybe she would keep secrets piled between us like sandbags, keeping the truth away as if it were a raging river. What wasn't I supposed to know?

Her?

Sharon let out a loud breath, humming her lips together. "Well. This was spectacular," she droned.

"All we need now is Richard to show up and yell at May again," Dawn sighed, straightening back up.

Sharon knotted her hands in her hair. "Actually, he should be here any moment. He wanted to get on the road by one." Her eyes brushed over my face. "I think he wants to talk to you, Mary Anne."

I nodded, taking another bite. That way I wouldn't have to say anything. Sharon and Dawn began discussing some mutual friend back in California, so I took their distraction to poke Logan. "You'll stay with me, right? I mean—just in case—"

"I'll break his jaw," he said, so low I strained to hear him. "You better know that. If he dares touch you, I will break his jaw, Mary Anne. I'll crack it right off of his face, and I'll absolutely be okay with being arrested for it, I don't care. But you better know, that's what I'll do if he tries anything with you again."

I puckered my lips and pressed my hands against his. "Only if he touches me," I relented.

"If he calls you anything bad, I might hit him. Not that bad, but something. Maybe I should slap him, let him know how it feels," he grumbled, striking hard into his chicken.

The door creaked open, and I watched my father walk into the house. No warning. As if he lived here, as if my home were his home. I straightened back up and then slid away from the table, meeting him in the living room.

"Dad," I said.

"Annie," he replied. His face grew soft around his mouth and eyes. "You look very pretty."

"Thank you—I have a wedding to go to," I told him, pulling at the skirt. For a moment, his eyes clouded, and I realized how much it must have hurt him that I got married without him. Without telling him a thing. It was my life—he had shoved me out years ago, telling me that I was the one to control this life, trusting me to make the decisions that he thought he didn't have the right to make. It didn't mean that he wasn't judging me. It didn't mean that it didn't hurt him.

I had stood with my lover and married him while my father sat at his desk and filed important motions and important documents. All of these important things that he did every day. While I did the most important thing of my life.

My life.

Did he wish he were still a part of it?

Dad's eyes grew distant again, retreating back to the place he had found the first time I had gotten sick. "Have you started treatment yet?"

"No, not until June," I answered, looking at my hands. They started to shake as I added, "When I'm in the second trimester."

"So, you're going to continue this pregnancy," my father sighed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a handkerchief. He dabbed the cloth over his forehead, snapping it out in a crisp way before folding it back up in a small square. "You're going to bring a baby into your illness."

"Yes, we are," Logan said, walking up next to me. He put his arm around my shoulders and shook his head. "This could save her—she might never get sick again with a transplant. It's something that neither of us can give her, why don't you get it? Why can't you understand that we need to do everything to save her?"

"So, you don't want a baby, you want a cure. And when Mary Anne dies, I'm sure your child won't feel guilty about that at all," Dad snorted, shaking his head at my husband. "Your child won't ever hate herself because she couldn't save her mother, I'm very certain. Or will you just lie to her? Tell her that she was always wanted?"

I slammed my hand against Logan's chest, holding him back. "Don't," I snapped.

"He just insulted me, you, our family? Get the fuck out of my house," Logan yelled, pointing at the door, his face growing crimson at the edges. "Just get out. God, you are so worthless. Get out, don't you dare say another word to us, just go."

My father blinked at us, a thing of stone, before turning on his heel and striding away. Stacey and Jeff came bounding down the stairs, their arms full of clothes and bedding, turning into the study before peeking back at us. I watched Dad thunder out to the car and rest his hands on the hood.

"I can't," I cried, running to the door and out onto the lawn and to my father. "Dad," I called out. "Dad, please don't hate me."

Dad's head rose up, the sunlight catching on the slick curve of his skin. He looked so old now, the age of a grandfather. Would he ever hold my baby? Would he want to?

Would I want him to?

"I don't hate you, Alma," he choked, putting his hands over his eyes. "But why are you doing this to me? Allie, why?"

I took a step back. "It's Mary Anne, Dad. Not Alma."

His eyes flew open with the speed of shock, boring into me and finding the Mom-shaped place in me. It was all he saw anymore, wasn't it. I was her, a woman with dark hair and brown eyes and a baby. When my mother was pregnant, her cancer was beginning its slow tumble into life, that tumor baking in the deep of her breast and rising into the hard truth of her mortality by the time I was learning to talk, to walk, to be not a baby but a little girl.

On my first birthday, they gave her six months to live. She lasted that long—no, five months, fifteen days. A woman with dark hair and copper eyes, glasses for reading, a book always in her purse. A woman with a baby and a cancer.

But not Alma. Not his Allie. His Annie instead.

The air clouded over in an orange breeze, and I watched my father take it into his lungs, clutching hard to the swing of her all over us. Tell him, Mom. Help me.

But he stared at me like he had been slapped himself, reeling back and throwing himself into the car, thrusting his head into his hands. Sharon came walking out behind me and put her hands on my shoulders.

"He called me by her name," I breathed. "Alma."

Sharon squeezed me hard, right down to my bones. "I'll keep talking to him. Don't give up on him—I won't, so don't you give up on him, either. But, I love you, Mary Anne."

"I love you, too, Sharon. Thank you for everything. You are such a wonderful mother," I told her, my voice catching too hard on that word. Her eyes glinted with tears as she touched my face before turning towards my father, his car, his way to leave me. I watched her slide on over to the car, and she waved at me as the car drove away. He kept staring ahead, and I could feel the tight grip of his fingers on the rubber wheel. Holding onto it, holding on to what he could. It was real, it was there. But I kept staring at their car as it moved away and out of sight, staring at the shadow that it had left behind.

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The sounds of Spanish hit my ears, rolling into my body like a curl of heat. So fast, so excited: there was so much happiness sewn on each word. I didn't understand any of it, but I knew. This is what it is like to bear witness to a moment of grace.

Bells rung from the cathedral tower, shining over the spring-thick grass that circled the church. Small clumps of people meandered towards the massive oak doors, arms slung tight to each other as they put kisses on each cheek. Two kisses, always.

"I wish we knew the people here," I said, taking Logan's hand as we walked up the stone drive to the church doors.

"I wish I knew what they were saying," he replied, straining to hear a knot of girls that were bustling by. "Most everyone is speaking Spanish? But I'm pretty sure that them folks were just talking in Portuguese."

I smiled at him, switching his hand into my left one, putting his arm over my shoulders. "Them folks. Sometimes, you are such a hick."

"You can take the boy outta Kentucky, but thank the Lord, you can never take the Kentucky out of the boy," he stated, popping a fist in front of him. He looked around the crowd outside of the doors as we approached. "Do you see Dr. Paves?"

"She said she'd meet us here," I shrugged, standing up on the ball of my foot to peer around for her. I rolled my eyes—if he, ten inches taller, couldn't spot her, how could I? After a moment, he gripped my hand and pointed to the left.

"There's your lady," he teased, and I clapped my hands, leaving him behind as I sliced through the jubilant bunch to hurl myself at my old therapist. My therapist, my teacher, my savior, my friend. I rocketed my body into her, and she laughed, picking me up off my feet and kissing my forehead.

She pulled back and squeezed my shoulders. "Ms. Spier, did you miss me?"

"Stop it, I'm gonna ruin my eye make-up," I sniffed, waving at my eyes.

Laughing, she pulled me in for another hug. "Well, I have a present for you. Hold on." She poked her husband, and he waved at me. I gave him a shy smile back; I had never really felt comfortable around him, no matter how nice he was. Maybe because I didn't know what to call him, this other Dr. Paves. That was her name. I didn't want to share it with him.

But he reached over and tapped the back of a man rivering Spanish at some young woman dressed in a skirt with small yellow flowers floating above her knees. And that man turned around and beamed at me. "Hey, May," Eddie winked. I slapped my hand over my mouth to stop my scream before I lunged at him, too.

After a moment, I stepped back and stared at the two of them, brother and sister. Psychiatrist and psychologist: they had linked me in their care for four years and helped me weave a strong self from the battered pieces of Mary Anne. They made me love myself, accept myself, be the Mary Anne who I wanted to be. Just me, that was enough.

I was in full tears now, and I reached into my purse to pull out a Kleenex to dab my eyes. "What are you doing here?" I squealed, giving Eddie a light punch.

"Oh, hello, I totally wrote her a letter of rec to get into Duke," he laughed. "Girl owed me a reception with a free bar, are you kidding? And, I'm hoping to meet some very attractive bridesmaid. Since, you know, Reese Witherspoon turned me down again."

"Maybe it's because she's married," I offered, reaching forward to give him another hug.

"How are you doing?" he asked, holding my face in his hands. "Not, like, psych-wise. We'll talk about that later. Just how are you doing."

"I'm really happy to see you both," I stammered, holding the tissue to my eyes again.

Dr. Paves put her arm around me and kissed my temple. "Your poor husband is standing next to the church doors looking totally abandoned. Perhaps we should go to him."

"Oh, who cares. He plays for The Enemy, we have no sympathy for that," Eddie snorted, putting his hands on his hips. "I hope you punished him but good when we lost to them in February."

I laughed, "Very big punishment. I made him watch Love Actually and A Room with a View. He was practically catatonic from all of the estrogen. But, he won't admit it? But he really liked Love Actually."

Gaping, Dr. Paves exclaimed, "Oh, my God, who doesn't love that movie! Uncle Billy? Hugh Grant with the dancing and the singing? And when Colin, my boyfriend, charges down to get—"

"Aurelia in the village, I know!" I squealed, and we grabbed hands and wiggled with excitement. Eddie stared at us in horror and then swung his arms in a mocking way, letting out a high-pitched shriek as he jerked around as if electrocuted. We glared at him for a long moment.

"He's such a loser," Dr. Paves grumbled, putting her arm around me. She gave me a hesitant look, flickering her eyes down at my stomach. "I can't tell yet, Mary Anne."

"Can I?" Eddie asked, clenching his hand in front of me. I nodded, and he slid his hand on my belly, those fingers fluttering against my dress. "When can we feel kicking?"

I shrugged. "My OB said, since I'm kinda thin?"

"Kinda?" Eddie snorted, and Dr. Paves reached out and slapped his head.

"Maybe as soon as twelve weeks, but probably not for another four, and then definitely by the twentieth week. I'm really excited for it," I admitted, slinging my lips to the side and chewing on the corner.

Eddie and Dr. Paves both crouched down in front of me. "Hello, babies," Dr. Paves cooed. "It's your Auntie Ana. You better be good to our May, got me?"

"Or else we'll make you run," Eddie laughed. "Run and hit things."

"They'll need therapy from their first moment now—getting threatened," I grinned, but my smile slumped a little. "They, it…oh, guys," I sighed.

Eddie straightened up and took my hand. "Not until we hit the open bar," he told me, shaking his head.

"There will be no open bar for Mary Anne!" Dr. Paves squawked. "There will be lots of healthy orange juice and water. We'll get the dad nice and drunk, though."

"He doesn't drink—he bet that Coach of his a hundred bucks that he would wait until his twenty-first birthday. And you know Logan—if Coach told him to jump off of the tallest building here in Raleigh, he'd be all, 'Would you like me to land on my head or on my feet?'" I said, letting out a snort.

"Gross. Coach Williams. I feel dirty just hearing about him. Tell me that Mr. Enemy over there won't be talking about him or that team," Eddie snarled, hooking his arm with mine. "They beat us, they beat my Texas in the NCAAs? It's like, could you have picked a more hideous man to marry?"

Dr. Paves took my other arm, holding onto her husband, too. "Sure she could have. She could have married Satan himself—the horrible Dean Smith."

Eddie's face peeled back in horror, and I leaned against him as I laughed. When we reached Logan, Eddie glared at him. "You are taller than I remember."

"Thank you?" Logan replied, shifting his eyes to me. I shrugged as he walked down the steps to hug Dr. Paves, kissing her on the cheek. "Hey, Doc."

"You look very nice," she smiled. "I am very excited for lunch. Do you mind coming down here to the city? We don't have a car, so I can't come up to you."

Logan nodded at her as Eddie pulled on my arm. "Come on, let's hustle before all of the Brazilians take the good seats in the church. I want to be in direct view of the bridesmaids. Scope out my territory."

I gave him a thumbs up and waited for my husband to place his hand on my waist, circling his thumb over that small sunrise of bone and skin as we followed my old shrink and my old therapist inside. As we walked into the church, the four of them crossed themselves, bending down on their knees and crossing again before entering our row. We settled in a pew in the middle of the bride's side, surrounded by the bright language of Brazil, the guests passing around large sacks of tropical flower petals and small vials of holy water. I took a handful of flowers and looked at Dr. Paves with a question in my eyes. She poked her husband, and he grinned.

"We toss them after the groom arrives," he explained. "He will walk in, and then we wait for the bride. She has to be late to the ceremony, at least ten minutes? But no more than thirty. Anyway, we throw the flowers and sprinkle the water because she wears shoes of gold, and we bless her steps. My brother-in-law is making this as Brazilian as possible, it's sick."

"And," Dr. Paves added, poking her brother. "I hate to say, there aren't bridesmaids, per se. The bride and the groom each have three couples standing for them. You won't be able to tell which ladies are single or not. Sorry, nino."

"It adds to the challenge," Eddie gritted, staring around the room. "Rafi, your family has a lot of fine Latinas for me, I can find myself a girl. I just love the shiny dresses."

"Did you have any attendants?" Dr. Paves asked me.

I nodded. "My best friend from Duke and his closest pal from the team. They weren't, like, fancy, though. They only had a day to get ready. We'll do it again, though. Maybe you could be my matron of honor," I added with a sly grin.

"Bite your tongue," she glared. "Shiny dresses make my ass look huge."

I laughed, kissing the hard knob of Logan's wrist bone. He rested his head on mine and told her, "Oh, come on, Doc. Every girl dreams of a booty, right?"

"Oh, he called you a girl—it's been a good fifty years since that's happened, huh?" Eddie smarmed, and she reached across her husband and struck her brother's leg. I laughed and then knocked my fist against Logan's knee. "Look, look, there's the groom."

Yelena's fiance, Benji, strode across the front of the cathedral with three couples in tow, shaking hands with the priest before glancing at his watch. Small knots of people in the church began singing a sweet melody with words that were unknown and yet lovely. I heard the three adults on my side take bets on how long it would take for the bride to show, and I tapped my husband's arm.

"You made me wait," I whispered, and he winced.

"I'm sorry," he whined, pushing out his lower lip. "Traffic on the highway was murder that day."

I tickled his waist, and he pulled me against his chest, kissing my heap of curls. "Excuses," I scoffed. "But—your song came on the stereo as you came running up. It was like it was waiting for you, angel."

"God bless Erin's iPod stereo, and God bless Erin for downloading the theme from East of Eden," he beamed. "What a sweetheart. You made us a great mix, but that was an inspired choice on her part."

"And it was the 1981 version. Not from the inferior 50s movie adaptation," I recited, imitating him. Nawt frum thuh enfarier fifties muhvie adahptashun.

"Watch it, pretty girl, or I'll hook up with Eddie and find me a shiny dressed non-bridesmaid," he threatened, pointing up at the attendants standing next to the increasingly impatient groom. Benji was shifting from foot to foot, staring at his watch and mouthing out the march of seconds. Every minute counted to him, and he was watching them all.

The singing ended, and another song began, and in a blur of motion, arms flung up flowers that arced onto the aisle. I took a small pinch of petals and flew them up to the ceiling and over to where the bride would cross, crushing the sweet smells of her home deep under her blessed feet. Some of the flowers that Eddie and the Paveses were throwing drifted down on me, tangling up in my hair. I touched them, but I didn't move them—I wanted the crown of color in me, on me. Stay there, stay with me.

Logan flickered the water over the carpet, taking a little to cross himself before passing the vial down the aisle. The others crossed themselves as well, then standing and sending droplets like rain over me. I touched a spot of water on my forehead and mimicked them, that Catholic motion of head, lymph nodes, heart, lung.

The latter three were broken in me. A lymphatic system full of cancer, a lung sprouting tumors. A heart that had stopped twice. And a head that had been so scarred by it all that it shut down and slept for three weeks. I crossed myself again and again until my fingers went dry. Logan pulled a petal off of his lap and strung it over the line of my dress, a straight thing that cut just above network of scars and the sling of my catheter. I grabbed his hand and pulled it to my mouth, kissing his knuckles as the singing and the rain of color and water continued through the cathedral.

The organ drenched the church in music, and I hear the massive creak of the doors shutting. She was here. I glanced over at Dr. Paves, and her face tightened in excitement. I turned around to look at the back of the church as Eddie crowed, "Ten minutes on the dot—I told you that Yelena couldn't wait!"

"She's waited four years, she could wait another thirty," Dr. Paves's husband sighed, reaching into his wallet and handing over a twenty dollar bill.

"Four years?" I gasped. "No way I could do that."

"Yeah, we noticed," Dr. Paves laughed. "They wanted to wait until they both finished their PhDs—they wanted to be married as Doctor and Doctor Figuerosa. Some people, you see, like to take their husbands' last name. Just sayin'."

"I think Dr. Spier has a nice ring to it," Logan announced, sticking out his tongue at her. She echoed his face, and they began laughing over my head.

I tapped the edge of the pew, waiting for the doors to open again. "Maybe I should just take your name," I blurted out. "Dad doesn't want me. You do. Why am I holding out?"

"Because you've done so much in your field as Spier, Mary Anne," he said, narrowing his eyes. "And if you didn't want to be Spier, then you should be a Baker before you're ever a Bruno. These are things that are important to you, don't be silly."

I smiled at him as the doors flew open; two small girls hurling rose petals came shuffling by. Three more couples paraded down the aisle, and then the congregation rose in a wave as Yelena walked in, escorted by a man with a thick cap of silver hair. Her large white dress hushed against each pew; with each step, I could see the tips of her gold shoes sneaking out, kicking the petals up in to the air and onto the hem of her belled skirt. Even from behind the film of her veil, I could see her smiling, those lips so red, they bled through the almost opaque netting.

I reached into my purse for my reading glasses, passing Logan his as well so we could read the translation sheet. He whispered that it was a standard Catholic wedding, and I shrugged. Like I would know. We stood for a long time as Bible readings were performed in both Portuguese and Spanish, and I gaped at Logan as he seemed to know exactly when to speak with the congregation, though he answered each call from the priest in Italian, almost sounding like the Spanish speakers to my left. He circled his hand over his forehead, his lips, his heart. He bent his head at the right times and crouched into a kneel before glancing at the translation card.

"You can just sit," he whispered, patting the pew.

So I did. And when the vows were recited, I took his hand and stared only at him. I only vaguely registered how the bride and the groom both had engagement rings on their right hands, a mutual promise that they changed onto their left fingers. Logan took my own left hand and kissed the place where my rings were, and I put my right hand over my stomach. It took everything in me not to kiss him as they sealed their own vows in the same way. I was selfish: I wanted this kind of wedding, too, all of this ceremony rich like warmth and a thickness of feathers. I wanted to sink into it. I wanted it to be me.

The couple bent over to sign their wedding license as we in the church applauded, an explosion of whistles and feet stamping echoing in the church. The priest called out another prayer, and Dr. Paves touched my shoulder. "It's time for the Sign of Peace," she smiled. "Peace be with you, Mary Anne." She kissed each of my cheeks and shuffled past me to reach to my husband. I turned to Eddie, and he said the same. Peace be with you. Eddie, Dr. Paves's husband, so many strangers from the pews abutting us. Everyone was leaving their seats and mingling around to exchange hugs and kisses, holding hands tight and exchanging this greeting, this blessing, this promise.

As I found my place again, there was a hand on my arm. "Peace be with you, tesorina," Logan smiled.

"And you, husband," I told him, taking his hands in mine. This time—this time, we kissed under the sound of the exclaiming bells.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Alright," Eddie sighed, clanking his empty glass onto the table. "I'm buzzed enough to deal, yet not drunk so I can make sense. Let's talk this out."

"Yes," I nodded, sipping my juice. "I'm so terrified, I absolutely need your help."

Dr. Paves leaned on her elbows and looked at me. "Already feeling the depression?"

I nodded. "I'm beginning to sleep a lot more, I'm feeling really sluggish. Not, like, cloudy-headed? But it takes me a long time to warm up. And these journals—they take a lot out of me," I murmured, looking down at my hands. "I read one yesterday? About a woman who was taking a shower, and the water turned to acid and burned off all of her skin. And she said that the next day, she was just lashing out at everyone around her—she said she was trying to make everyone hurt, too, and the day after, she began a bad low cycle. So I went to take my shower, and I literally just stood there and watched the water for ten minutes before I would go in. It never used to hit me like that."

Taking in a deep breath, I asked, "Does that make me crazy?"

I waited for it: Mary Anne, do you need us to validate you? Mary Anne, are you fishing for some kind of affirmation? But the two of them just stared at me, stroking my face with their concerned eyes.

"It doesn't make you crazy, but this isn't healthy," Dr. Paves sighed, swirling the ice cubes in her drink around with the stir stick. She grabbed her lime slice and eeked out a few more drops from the wedge. "The problem is, what is causing this?"

"It could be simple withdrawal effects from the medication," Eddie explained. "Or it could be that the stress of the pregnancy has opened up your depression, and it's all pouring out. I know you have a therapist, but do you have a shrink lined up at Duke? I mean, I am so happy to be your psychiatrist, but May, our usual deal of me seeing you once every six months is not going to cut it if you're having these kinds of problems. I want you to have a psychiatrist at Duke who can monitor you as well. Do you want me to call someone for you?"

"Please," I said. "And as soon as possible." I glanced over my shoulder at Logan, who was peering into the mouth of some man who had heard there was el dentista at Rafi Paves's table. Logan had beamed and leapt up from his seat so fast he made the entire table vibrate.

"You're not a dentist yet," I laughed.

"Yet," he emphasized, shaking his finger at me as he followed the man over to the bright lights under the bar.

I kept looking at him as I heard myself say, "I don't want Logan to have to be my nursemaid, you know? Because it's one thing to have him be my support during chemo and all, it's another to need him to remind me to get out of bed and stuff. And I know me, I'll get resentful of him having to hover like that, and I can almost smell the fight that I'll have with him. We need to get this under control."

"I'm glad you're being proactive, Mary Anne. It would be very easy to say, 'Oh, it's just baby hormones, oh, it's no biggie,'" Dr. Paves noted, patting my shoulder. "Because it's not, mija. You're in a depressive cycle yourself right now. Personally—and Eddie, go ahead and be a bitch and disagree—I don't think you have chronic depression. It's situational; it gets triggered and then lies down on your body like a blanket until the meds give you the strength to shake it off. And this situation you have here, the stress of the cancer and the baby and your dad and just the overall trauma on your life? It's a breeding ground for the depression."

Eddie ran his finger over the rim of his glass. "Well, I don't disagree. I do think that Mary Anne needs constant medication, though. I think her personality lends itself to moping and dwelling—the grudge holding, the excessive crying and mood swings, the extreme shyness and passivity from her childhood? She's got a predilection to depression, Ana, that we have to acknowledge."

"Hi, I'm right here?" I said, waving my hands. "Mary Anne's sitting right here?"

He smiled at me, flicking a bit of his gin in my face. "Thanks, hon, I wasn't aware of that," he snarked. Knotting his hands together, he rested them on the top of his head. "I think you need to see a shrink once every two weeks, and be with your therapist twice a week. This could get out of hand very quickly, you have to stay vigilant."

I covered my face with my hands. "My insurance is good, but it's not that good when it comes to mental health," I sighed. I began rubbing my eyes. "I guess I could just…maybe I should just take out a loan now, use that for tuition and living and stuff, use my trust for health care. I don't want to ask my dad, I don't want him to be involved in this. And I don't want to touch Logan's savings—he said it was my money, but I don't want to use it, not if we don't have to."

Dr. Paves tugged my hands down. "We'll pay," she announced. "As a wedding gift. Eddie and Rafi and I will put down all of your co-pays for any mental health treatment from here on out."

My jaw dropped as I stared at them, bewildered. "Oh, no," I gasped. "You can't do that."

"Why the hell not?" she shot back. "You won't get a present at the big fancy wedding, just as a warning. But we'll do it. We'll have the bills sent to Stoneybrook. You'll be back on your meds after the baby is born, so it's not like this is a forever deal."

"I—it's so generous," I stammered, dropping my hands in my lap. "I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll accept our gift," Eddie urged.

"Let me think it over—talk to him," I said, thumbing back at my husband. "He's the keeper of our bank ledger. I'm sorry, but math just makes my head go gross."

Dr. Paves grinned at me. "Yeah, that's a blow to feminism, right there." She exchanged a look with her brother and said, "So, baby? Babies? Are you okay with the idea of an abortion?"

"Yes and no," I whispered, resting my forehead on my fist. "It's a classic health of the mother situation, isn't it? Twins, with my heart problems? My OB says I'm staring down the barrel of dozens of possible cardiac complications, and when she starts to talk about another heart attack as a real, true thing that could happen? I start to crumble. I can't risk that again. I can't," I said, my face sinking in a sob.

"Of course you can't," Dr. Paves rushed, steeling an arm around my shoulders. "Carrying one baby to term would be hard enough. Two seems nearly impossible. And why risk it, huh? Just do what you said: get the amnio, go from there. Besides—speaking from personal experience," she said in a soft voice, "a lot of times, you miscarry. Your body may say, Nuh uh, can't do it. Your body has a pretty good idea of what it can and cannot handle."

"You've miscarried?" I asked, pressing my thumb under my eye.

"Yes," she answered, giving me a small smile. "It happens. I was pregnant with twins once, and I lost one baby, and then a month later, I lost the other. It was very hard, but that's when I started teaching as well as counseling. It was a good way for me to be maternal without being a mother. And then my idiot brother showed up in Stoneybrook, and I got to be a mother for real, cleaning up after his incompetent self," she grinned.

Eddie tossed a napkin at her head. "Ignore her," he snapped. "Mary Anne, you know this. There is no use waging war against the cancer if you're going to put your health in danger with a pregnancy. Don't feel guilty, don't hate yourself. I know it's confusing since you know you'll have a baby but it isn't just one baby right now."

"But don't mix the confusion in with guilt, got me?" Dr. Paves concluded.

"I got you," I replied. As if it was as simple as that. Though maybe it was. If you say it, if you say it out loud: "I won't feel guilty for doing what I need to do to live."

"Good girl," Eddie said with a nod. He stole a glass of champagne from a waiter passing by. "Now, tell me all about this disaster with your sister and Stacey. It sounds like The O.C."

"That show was canceled years ago," I laughed.

"It lives on in DVD!" he barked, slamming his fist on the table. "Don't rob me of the Mischa Barton years, May."

I kept laughing as Logan sat back down at the table. "What's so funny?" he asked.

"Eddie and his rotating cast of imaginary girlfriends," I smiled, wrinkling my nose at my shrink and flicking a bit of my juice at him.

"See, I've had the same imaginary girlfriend for a long time now. Me and Mandy Moore, we're a forever thing," Logan said, linking his index fingers together. "Mary Anne knows, I'll have to leave her if Mandy ever showed up at my door to finally accept the fact that we're totally meant to be."

"Any day now," I told him, rubbing his shoulder. "She'll come to her senses."

Dr. Paves swung her finger between the two of us. "How are you two doing?"

"It's a month on the fifth," Logan beamed. "I have to work full days for the next three weeks, though, so I won't be able to do much of anything for Mary Anne in terms of an anniversary. Sorry, pretty girl. I can get you a new toothbrush, though," he said, perking up.

I rolled my eyes. "Right. Nah, we're going to go to the beach for a couple of days after his internship ends. That's our idea of a honeymoon. Wilmington."

"Sexy," Eddie drawled, rolling his eyes. "Exotic Wilmington."

"But otherwise?" Dr. Paves prompted.

"We're good," I said as he kissed the back of my hand. "We're good. Everything and everyone else is insane."

She grinned at me. "Well, if someone knows insanity, it's you, huh?"

I gaped at her and moved to throw my fork, but a chorus of voices caught my attention. Besarse, besarse! I glanced over at Dr. Paves, and she said, "They want the bride and groom to kiss. Besar. To kiss."

"Un bacio," Logan told me. "Posso avere un bacio?"

"Si, certamente," I giggled, kissing him on the lips.

Eddie groaned. "Not you two, Jesus. The extremely drunk Brazilian and Spaniard over there." There was applause, and then the band blasted out a rumbling song, spicy with drums and wailing trumpets. Eddie bolted to his feet. "A samba! Excellent! I'm gonna go find me a pseudo-bridesmaid and samba myself into intoxication."

Dr. Paves stood. "I'm going to go find my husband—I love a good samba. You two coming?"

I shook my head so fast my eyes rattled. She handed me her purse and skittered off with her brother. After she left, I settled into Logan's lap and watched the dancers, Yelena bumbling against her bulbous dress and the build-up of alcohol that turned her arms into mushy lines.

"Isn't she a gorgeous bride?" I sighed. "That dress is four times bigger than her, but she looks so pretty."

"She is very pretty—but what makes her so gorgeous is how happy she is," he replied, twisting his hands over my waist. "I've always thought that Yelena was beautiful, but you just can't take your eyes off of someone that happy, can you?"

"We're going to be that happy," I promised.

He tucked his head against my neck, rocking me in a lazy way, back and forth, like the pendulum of a clock, the clapper of a bell. "We already are," he murmured.

I felt a cough rumble up from the bottom of my lungs, and I struggled to keep it down, but it exploded out of my mouth. I kept hacking for a long minute, and when I pulled my hand away, there was a fine whisper of blood on the lines of my palm. I held it out to him, and he reached over and grabbed a napkin. Without a sound, I wiped my lips as he stared at the blood that smeared over the crook of my hand.

He took his finger and drew a heart in that redness, curling my fingers around it and pulling the fist to his heart. "Three more weeks," he said, knocking my knuckles against the strong ridge of his ribs.

"We'll make it," I sighed, leaning against him again.

If you say it, it might be true.

If you say it, it might be you.