Jackie Rowdowsky blew blast me, and I let out a cry as I began to fall.

But a pair of arms darted out and wrapped around my body, cradling me as I tumbled down. I looked up, my mouth opening to say something but all my words evaporated there on my tongue, rising up like steam as I stared at him. Upside down, like a fun house mirror, my eyes looking right into his mouth.

Those were lips that would kiss me soon after.

Those were lips that would call me pretty girl and tesorina and wife.

But all I knew then was that Logan caught me as I was falling. He smiled at me with his crooked grin and said in a Southern-warm, slow way of his: "Don't worry, I have you."

Yes, he did.

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"Do you need another pillow, May?"

"Do you want some socks?"

"Want me to turn on the TV?"

"Do you want me to call Logan again?"

If one more person spoke, I was going to scream.

Wait, check that: that ripping, kicking, nasty line ache that arched through my pelvis came again, and I let out a howl through my gritted teeth.

Close enough.

I looked at my sister with desperate eyes. Get them all out of here, for God's sake. Every single member of my baby shower was crammed in the bright, boxy hospital room, presents cuddled in their arms. It had been a blast of Great Idea from Kristy.

"You might be in labor for hours. Days. So why should we stop the party?" she reasoned.

"Days?" I whimpered to Dr. Paves as she helped me into my coat.

"It'll be character building," she said, her eyes heavy with a smirk.

"You go to Seattle and come back Sarah Silverman," I glared, leaning against the wall and forcing myself to breathe. Those classes: all Logan did was sit there and hold my hands and make fun of having to take a class to breathe. How hard is it? he had hissed. There, trying to remember to stay standing while my insides felt crunched and baked by this baby that was half his, actually, Logan, breathing can be very hard.

It was easier, now, lying down in the hospital bed, but all of the noise and heat from body crammed together in the small space of the room was making me feel claustrophobic under my skin. Jessi was showing Kathleen and Kerry how to do a pirouette by the tiny bathroom in the hospital room, my new sister stared in awe. Kathleen held her arms out carefully and tried to imitate the spin, crashing into Miranda.

"Watch it, fly girl," Miranda said sharply, stepping on Emily's foot. Who howled so loudly that Jeremy squealed which made Stacey laugh so loudly that my ears started to echo with the noise, all of the noise, and then Dawn came in, her voice raking down my nerves like fingernails, and trilled, "I have cake!"

I burst into tears.

It had worked for me in the past, you know.

Dawn stared at me and then said again in that so loud it shattered me voice, "Which is gonna be in the visitor's room? How 'bout we move down there?"

"Sounds perfect," Stacey and Emily said in unison.

"May? Want me to stay?" Miranda asked, putting her hand on my thick ankle. It felt like weeks since I had seen that part of my body, lost under the sea of my belly. God knows what color nail polish Stacey had put down there. Maybe she had branded me, like one of her Chanel bags. What if there was a Stanford Cardinal on my foot?

I shook my head. "I just…need some time to think," I said, exhaling with my mouth in a puckered circle. My fingers curled around her wrist. "Do I have a tattoo on my foot?"

Miranda looked at me suspiciously then glanced at Emily. "Has she gotten drugs?"

"Come on," Emily urged her, though she gave me an appraising look. "Text us, we'll come running. And if you want us to thin the crowd—"

"We'll just encourage Stacey to tell us what's hot and what's not. Good times, a lecture on jorts versus denim capris," Miranda snorted, grabbing her purse. She gave me a kiss on the cheek. "We're right outside. Love you, Maybelle."

"I love you," I whispered. "I just need the quiet."

I kissed Emily on the cheek. "We know," she said with a wink. Of course they did.

The room was empty save for the two adult women, and I felt like my lungs could inflate all the way—well, as much as they could with the baby and its version of manifest destiny. I was certain she had her feet crammed up in my diaphragm, a prenatal yoga of her very own that crowded every inch of me. Were you supposed to feel this tight, like a present wrapped with too little paper, taped together desperately? Like my skin was ready to rip apart if I flexed my fingers too wide?

"Is it hot in here?" I asked, my eyes meeting Rose's as she opened up the curtains in the room.

She strode over and put her hand on my forehead. I was hooked up to machines measuring each tick and breath of me, but my mother-in-law pressed her skin to mine, and it felt like the most accurate barometer in the world. "You feel a bit warm, but it's nothing to get worried about. Just stress," she said in a sweet voice, sitting down on the edge of the bed. With a furtive glance towards the door, she grabbed my chart and looked it over.

Dr. Paves sat in the chair next to my bed, taking one of my hands in hers. "Everything look normal?"

Rose nodded slowly, flipping through the pages. "I've been nosing around, finding out how they treat preeclampsia during labor," she murmured, squinting the way Logan did when he was reading without his glasses. The same wrinkle over their nose, the same tightness of the eyes. I missed him so badly for a moment, my heart seemed to skip right into the next moment, a moment closer to him coming. I felt cloying and needy—unable to wait even fifteen minutes or him to show, when did I become That Girl?—but I was scared and felt crushed under the weight of this. I wanted my husband, that was all.

"—right, Mary Anne?" Rose was prompting.

"Pardon?"

"You have a twenty-four hour window for a vaginal birth, right, honey?" she said, maybe for the second time. Maybe third.

I nodded, and the hand that was in mine was so strong, so secure, I began to cry. This is what a mother would feel like.

Where was Sharon…

Where was my father.

"Mija, what's wrong," Dr. Paves murmured, stroking her fingers down the swollen track of my arm.

I started shaking my head, so fast the room blurred over. The room took on a strobed look in my eyes, as unreal as this seemed. "I'm twenty. I'm sick, and I'm married, and I'm gonna have a baby that I might not live long enough to teach her to tie her shoes? Was I insane? Am I insane?" I cried, covering my face with a hand. "What am I doing? I dragged Logan into this, I dragged this baby into this, my father isn't speaking to me…I dream about my mother, and I read my dreams like Tarot cards—I'm a mess, I can't believe this is happening, I can't…"

Dr. Paves watched me cry, her hand tight on mine. She waited for my tears to space out, so that there was more silence than sobbing. "What do you want me to say?" she asked me in a low voice. "That…you've fucked up? Good job, Ms. Whatever Last Name You Are, you did a royal number on you and Too Tall and everyone around you. Is that what you want?"

"No," I gulped, rubbing at my eyes. "I can do that just fine, thank you."

She smiled at me. "So. What you want is…oh dear God, it's been so long, I've almost missed it. Mary Anne wants validation!"

"Don't make fun of me," I snapped, pulling my hand back and crossing my arms over my chest. What a smart ass. I had forgotten that about her. Thanks for reminding me, Ana.

She shrugged, mimicking my petulant pose, mischief making her eyes brighten around the edges. "Don't make fun of you, Mary Anne. When you say that you 'can't,' that everything is a disaster, you belittle yourself and your ability to make things right."

I put my hands on my belly, round like a map of the world. "But this isn't freaking out over a nightmare. This is—"

"It's huge. Literally," she said dryly. She leaned her arms on the bed and looked at me, a long stare that speared deep inside my most elusive, trembling parts. "But it's nothing you can't handle. There is nothing in the world that's too big of a fight. When it comes to life, that is. I think you're a bit up the creek if you tried to take on one of your boy's teammates for a little fist fight," she teased. Dr. Paves sat back, and I counted the lines in her face, aged and carved squiggles around her eyes. "But this is something that you chose, and when you did? It became your path. Now it's not a question of it 'being' right. Make it right. Make it okay, got me?"

I nodded meekly, and she clucked her tongue, pushing up and joining me on the bed. "I'm just scared," I whispered, hugging my belly with my hands.

"I know," she whispered back. "If you weren't scared, then I'd freak out. A little pep talk before you shove something the size of a microwave is okay. I think you get two or three pep talks, Mary Anne, free of charge."

My brow raised; if I had the hair for eyebrows, I'm certain they would have shot up like arrows. "A microwave? Either you know of some seriously tiny ones, or you are overestimating the size of the kid," I giggled.

"Well, I was going to say 'toaster oven,' but I didn't know if kids nowadays had them," she sniffed. "Personally, I adore mine. I can make little pizzas out of English muffins. It's fabulous."

I stared at her incredulously and began to snort with laughter, leaning back in relief and feeling some of that awful pancaked feeling from my chest release. I was still too tight, but it was a bit better. I had enough room to keep breathing.

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"You want to what?" Logan repeated, staring at me in dismay. Abject shock, as though I had slapped him. Or stripped naked. At thirteen, that would have been enough to rock him back on his heels, too.

"I want to dress up as cats, like from the musical?" I repeated, biting at my lower lip and looking at him from the bottom of my eyes. I let my long hair fall over my shoulders, and I stared at him. And I kissed him, a long hard press that made my fingers curl in his hand. We had been kissing for a few weeks now, but this was new, to kiss like lips were malleable.

There. There was a change. His lips were opening, pulling mine apart, too. The gentle, clumsy crawl of his tongue into my mouth, bumping against my teeth. I swallowed, unsure of what to do.

Don't move.

Okay.

It was nudging mine, now, that hesitant tongue, and I waited for it to blanket mine as I tried to figure out my next move. I hadn't pushed him away, I hadn't screamed or thrown my soda at him, so maybe that shot courage through Logan's veins, because he was scooting closer to me and putting a hand behind my head. He exhaled through his nose against my skin, a vaguely equine noise. I could tell: he had no clue was he was doing, sliding his tongue over mine like a knife spreading peanut butter on bread, but he was so eager, so full of want.

I lifted my tongue and let it curl with his, and Logan wound his hand tighter in my hair. The first time you French kiss is like the first time you hold hands, so nervous about how fingers weld together. Whose wrist is turned forward and whose is turned back. But you find a way to make that pact of hands. And you find a way to make tongues talk in this wordless way.

It just takes practice.

I pulled back first, needing to breathe. My hand was bracing on his shoulder as I took in tiny pants, staring at how my lip gloss had left a red rim around his lips. As if Logan had been sloppy with strawberries or cherry Kool-Aid.

"Wha—what were we talking about?" he said, husky and befuddled.

"Halloween," I murmured, swallowing and tasting him, the Sprite he had been drinking, the mint of his toothpaste. "Costumes."

Logan blinked. "Cats are fine," he mumbled, leaning forward and laying those lips on mine again. I had a fleeting thought: Oh, your lips will be so red now.

Oh, how I wanted them to be. Branded by me.

This is why it was smart for my father to never let Logan be inside when Dad wasn't home. Because the first day that I learned how to kiss like this—I never wanted to be kissed any other way.

By any other one.

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"Stacey says that we should have May's shower? That way, you can avoid the bullshit of having to be excited over every damn pair of baby shoes," Allison announced, her camera dangling around her neck. "Direct quote, by the way. Except I redacted a few 'fuckings' here and there."

"The future of American finances," Dr. Paves said dryly, choosing a card of the discard pile.

"I thought Stacey was one of the babysitters," Rose said, her face puzzled, shuffling the cards in her hand around as she chose a card. "I'd think that would be something Randa would say, not Stacey."

"Stacey has a low threshold for stupidity," I explained, examining my own hand before taking the four of spades Rose had tossed down. "Squealing ad naseum over pink items that she might find unfashionable? That might push her over the edge."

Logan let out a snort, picking up my discarded eight. "Sucks to be Stacey, and sucks to be all y'all. Gin," he said triumphantly, laying down his cards over my legs.

"Shouldn't you let Mary Anne win?" his mother asked, tossing one of her cards at him.

I heard a vague click come from near the door; when I looked at Allison, she winked at me. "When do I get to see pictures of your show, from August," I asked, leaning back in the bed. The next contraction was due any minute, like one of Logan's teammates who showed up on football mornings, loud and obnoxious and carrying a case of beer. Right on time to ruin my day.

"I have them back at the house. When you and baby are back home, we'll have a show and tell," Allison smiled, lining Dr. Paves's hands shuffling the deck up in her lens. She fired off three shots and lowered the Canon. "I brought you some artwork, mine and some of the other artists. I also brought pink shit," she added with a sly grin.

I laughed, reaching out a hand to Logan. It was coming, I wanted to be prepared. He gripped hard to my fingers and let his head bob in a way that was determined and conciliatory all at once. When he kissed my fingertips, it felt like a song.

The moment he burst into the hospital room, I wanted to cry. Literally: I was in the thrall of a contraction. Which, if you think about it, is an odd word for what it is; the rhetorician in me seized on that quirk and throttled it to get me through the pain. In grammar, a contraction jams two words together. In birth—slamming that baby against me in its quest to escape—wasn't that was it was, too? The painful joining of two things.

Or maybe the pain was making me delusional.

I was thinking about rhetoric for God's sake. Give me the drugs.

"Tess?" he yelped, hurrying in as I let out a high-pitched whine, clawing at Dr. Paves's hand at a way that gave me déjà vu. His eyes blanked for a moment, and he stared at me as if I was a new person, a stranger with a Mary Anne face who was making a very un-Mary Anne noise.

Logan held up a bag. "I—brought wings?"

I stared at him.

"Do you have parmesan garlic?" Dr. Paves asked eagerly, reaching out for the bag.

I swatted at her. "Ana! Focus!" I demanded. With an exasperated breath, I grabbed a few of the ice chips from the bucket Rose held and crunched them under my teeth to make my mouth moist again. "You," I said, narrowing my eyes at Logan. "You."

"We'll…go," Rose offered, grabbing the bag from Logan's hand and hustling out of the room with Dr. Paves.

My gaze was narrowed, a squinting, suspicious thing. But he grinned at me, glancing from my stomach to my face and waving in for a kiss that would me knocked me off my feet, had I been able to stand. Damn this boy and the way he holds me in his mercy with a simple kiss. I laughed into his mouth, and he pulled back. "We're gonna have a baby."

"I'm glad you figured that out," I giggled, tugging on his ears. "Yes, we are."

Logan climbed onto the bed and stretched out next to me. "I stopped by the house and got some stuff for you. Your wooly socks, a sweater if you get chilly…" He traced his finger in a heart over my belly. "The blanket."

"Books?" I prodded.

"We have TV!" Logan protested. He rested his chin on my shoulder. "It's a Saturday. That means football."

"That means, have fun in the lounge with the baby shower," I shot back, rubbing my palm over the peach fuzz on his scalp. I sighed. "Stay with me?"

"Even when Randa tried to drag me out by the ears so that you and her and Em can have 'girl time?' Even if Dawn and Stacey want to bombard you with fashion shit?" he asked, his eyes lighting up.

"Especially then," I nodded, kissing him myself, then guiding his head to rest on my heart. "The doctor wants to talk to us. There's a lot to go over."

He turned his face to look at me. "Yeah. But we'll be okay. Dr. Chaplin'll guide us right, she has the whole way. Is it okay if I tell my friends that we're here? Coach?"

"Just…have them go to the lounge? I don't know how up for company I'll be," I said hesitantly. "I'm going to need Dawn to be a stingy gatekeeper for me. Since—you aren't allowed to leave me for a second." I tugged his collar. "Not even for the space of a blink. Unless I send you off on an errand. I might have to give you a little hat, Errand Boy."

Logan raised an eyebrow, stretching to kiss my chin. "So hats are hot, huh?" He exhaled into my neck, a sweet minty wave of air. "Pretty girl, can we just have it be you and me for a while, though? Just you and me."

"And baby," I added, taking his hand and kissing his wedding band.

"That's all I want," he said simply. "That's all."

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"Honey," I teased.

"Dear," he grinned, spinning in his desk chair. "Darling."

"Sweetie," I tried out, as if the endearment were a sweater. We had been dating all eighth grade, save for the month of our break up, and it had been peppered with "pretty girl" and "honey," which made me feel grown up, in a real relationship like an adult would have, us with our real-couple way of changing names into something sweeter.

"Cutie," Logan said, tugging my legs into his lap. The printer hummed, spitting out another page. He ran a hand over my left calf. "Sexy."

I bit my lip and felt my face burn. Say it again, Logan, say it again. "Stud," I said, forcing myself not to dissolve into giggles.

"Am I?" Logan said, a smug smile on his face. He squeezed my knee. "I like that one, pretty girl."

"That's the one I love best," I admitted. The printer stopped whirring, and he reached back to grab our report, everything that we had discovered and learned during our time being married and parents in our health class. I looked at the stack of papers and shook my head. "Thirty-two pages. Do you think we did enough?"

Logan peered at it in concern. "I think so?" He slid it into a laminate holder and sighed. "I guess we'll find out."

His hands found my legs again. What if I let him touch me under my shirt. What if we…we were too young for that. Yes, we were. Right? "Logan? Do you think we'll actually get married? When we're older?"

Logan's face turned red around the edge, like a sweet frame. "I hope so," he said, giving me a bashful smile that made me think of bridal gowns and a big white cake and a first dance. With everyone watching…but that would be okay, since he would be with me. Because we'd be married.

"I love you," I told him.

"I love you more, pretty girl," Logan said back with the confidence that only a fourteen-year-old flush with first love could have. Confident and innocent and sure exactly what the future would hold: me and him. Always, me and him.

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Miranda wrapped her hand around mine, forming a lock around the IV stand, while Emily belted my waist with her arm.

"Walking helps labor," Emily said with that self-important air that made me grin as we began a loop around the delivery wing.

"Was that from Wiki or Google?" Miranda said dryly.

Emily shot her a hard look. "From the expectant mothers book I read. Hello, there is this amazing new invention that scientists are so proud to report: a library? Books, with hard covers on them? Duke has a huge one, I'm sure your college might, too?"

"Lie-barry?" Miranda repeated dumbly, tilting her head to the side with large doe eyes. "What is this thing?"

I giggled. "Ree-ding? It's a close cousin of the novel concept, studying?"

"Now I know you're talking crazy," she snorted. Miranda shook her head. "I worked my ass off to get into UNC. Now, it's cake city. I just need to find a cute guy now, and I'm signing off of effort forever."

"You know," I said slowly, putting my arm around Emily's shoulder for support. If there was one thing to thank the baby for—among all of the other things—it was the weight, the fullness that had stayed in my arms, my hips, fighting off that chemo frailty that had whittled me down before. If only I had all the curves that could be filled. If only. "I have a cute guy, but…hate to say it, things haven't gotten that easy."

Emily raised an eyebrow. "The whole cancer thing might be the reason for it, May, hate to say." She reached across me and flicked at Miranda's arm. "Though, Stephen Hawking, I think your plan has a few holes."

"Hold up, Captain Logic," Miranda sniffed, smacking Emily on the shoulder behind me. "First, part of the problem is that Lee blows. And he's not cute, hot, sexy, or D, any of the above, sorry, May." She held up a finger. "There is nothing wrong with wanting a sugar daddy. Stacey would approve."

"No, she wouldn't," I said. "Stacey thinks relying on a man for more than sex sets yourself up for some serious shit. Unless your name is Davis." But even then…long distance makes the heart grow fonder, but for how long? Maybe I was still the thirteen year old who watched romantic movies and dreamed of her own wedding, but I had silly visions of Stacey and Davis marrying, living close to Logan and I, and our best friend husbands would go off and do guy things together while Stacey and Dawn and I—since Dawn would naturally be nearby—would sit around and giggle together, having the time of our life.

Yeah. I was seriously in Dreamland. Still. I had to hope.

I was good at that.

"I don't mind falling in love and all of that, but I'd never want to give up my career," Emily frowned. "I think that's more important right now than finding my one true pairing. Besides, my twenties are for sleeping around, making out with sketchy people on dance floors, picking the wrong people so that I appreciate the good one when I find them," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Miranda leaned into me. "Notice the lack of gendered pronouns. Someone is trying oh so hard to be inclusive here."

"I'm sorry," Emily shot back. "I'm almost certain that I want to settle down with a guy, it feels more right, but girls are incredible kissers." She smirked at us. "That girl from the club last week? Best kisser in the whole world."

With a snort, Miranda grumbled, "That's cause you haven't kissed me yet." She looked at Emily with obsequious eyes. "If I wanted to swing that way, you'd totally make out with me, right?"

"Are you kidding? You're the hottest girl I know," Emily said soothingly, smiling at her best friend.

I scoffed. "What about me!"

"You're not my type," Emily protested with a shrug. "You're hot, Maybelle, no question, but…you don't light my fire. Not even a spark."

"Why not!" I yelped, parking the IV stand as I stared at her.

Emily shrugged again. "Too short, sorry."

"I'm only an inch shorter than you!"

"That's an important inch," Miranda said importantly. "Alan was only an inch taller than me, but it still mattered. You've gotten spoiled, dating a giraffe."

I laughed despite myself and sighed, looking at Emily. "Do you think you'll ever…you know, sleep with a girl?"

"I'm not sure? I mean, usually the girls I hook up with when I'm dancing are like me, having an itch to scratch," Emily said thoughtfully, steering me around a corner. "I've thought about it, just to see what it was like, but I was nervous it would send the wrong message. My work is my partner right now, that's all that matters to me. More times than not, a guy will be just fine to fuck you and forget you. Maybe I'm the new Stacey."

"Emily is the new Stacey, and I am the new black," Miranda said with a laugh. She paused. "Ew, that made me sound like I'm Ry. Gross."

Ry.

I shivered and glanced over my shoulder, just to be sure. Suddenly, I felt shadowed, watched. Like a wind was riding on my heels.

"Are you cold?" Miranda asked, squeezing my hand. Her face was painted in concern. "Your arms are all goosebumpy."

"Yeah…maybe we should head back. Besides, I really don't want to have to have a contraction here, for all the world to see," I said slowly, looking into an open room where a man rocked an infant in his arms. Hi, Mr. New Dad, watch me scream in pain.

Emily grinned. "Remember the last time we were in a hallway with an IV stand? Back at the Yale Hospital?"

Riding on the IV. Laughing wildly. Feeling breathless and big and larger than what was in my body and my blood. Just a brown-eyed girl.

"I think my tummy's too big to do that again," I said ruefully.

"Aw, come on, May, you my—brown eyed girl. D'you remember when? We used to sing: sha la la la la la la la la la la di da," Miranda sang, the notes crooked off the tone, as she urged me to sway with her and the beat.

"La ti da," Emily giggled, shimmying her hips into mine.

"You my brown eyed girls," I sang back, pointing at both of them. Barbara had brown eyes, too. The four of us, against the world.

Now three. Just three. Look how we have grown.

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"Goodnight, moon," Emily sang out in the darkened room. There was a giggle and a thump. "Goodnight room. Goodnight chemo that glows green in the gloom."

"That's lovely," Barbara admonished, though I could hear the laugh under her scold. "We're here to cheer her up, Emily." There was another thump, then another, and then a muted squeal.

"May! Make her stop hogging the futon," Miranda whined.

"Which 'she'?" I asked, squinting my eyes. My hospital room at Yale was small, but I couldn't make out who was who in the large lump on the folded out futon. The three bodies of my best friends in a congealed hump of kicking legs and abbreviated laughter.

Logan tightened his arms around mine, sliding his leg up and resting his foot against my calves. This bed of mine was so small, but I was never cold with him here. Not once. "Don't make me come over there and turn that futon around," he said in a sleepy stern voice.

"Yes, Dad," Emily groaned.

Barbara sighed. "Come on, guys, Mary Anne needs her sleep," she said primly. "Night, Lee. Night, May."

"Night," Babsie," I called out. "Goodnight, Logan," I whispered, turning my head to nuzzle his cheek with my nose.

"Goodnight, Mary Anne," he murmured, finding my lips with his. It was so easy to get lost in his kisses, to stroke my tongue against his and feel like I was diving far under the surface. Remind me never to breathe; you are all the air I need.

My hand slid around his neck. His hand circled my stomach. We kept kissing, and kissing, and—

A gasp. "Are you two hooking up?" Miranda squawked.

"No! We were just kissing!" he hissed, burrowing closer to me. "Get a grip, Randa."

"That sounded a bit heavier than just a kiss or two," Barbara said slowly, a curve of slyness on her words. "Were those perhaps kisses of the French persuasion?"

Logan's mouth dropped. "Babsie! Whose side are you on!"
Miranda laughed, and there was a slap, like two hands colliding in a high five. "Nice work, Babs! Way to move to the side of the righteous."

"Oh, my God," Logan groaned, pulling the fleece higher to our necks. "I can't even deal."

I giggled and kissed his cheekbone. "Thank you," I whispered. "For letting them spend the night. I know this is our time." I know this has to be annoying, at best.

He was quiet for a moment. "Are you happy?"

With my boyfriend and my best friends? All together, creating a little universe that said that maybe I'd be okay. Yes. Oh, yes. I kissed him in reply, and Logan rested his chin in the bend of my neck. Good, he wrote with his fingertips onto my hipbone. That's all that matters.

We didn't say another word, we just held each other there as my best friends giggled into sleep. We shared an orbit, all of us, and it felt more perfect that anything in the world.

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"I don't know how many more of these I can do," I gasped, giving Dawn a grateful smile as she wiped my brow with a washcloth.

"They're getting closer together," Logan said, pulsing his hand with mine. "Six minutes apart now, pretty girl, she's coming."

"She can come any time now," I sighed, lying back against the raised bed. I closed my eyes. "Here that, Miss Isabella? Come any time now."

Stacey's eyes lit up, and she put down the Vogue she was reading. No: highlighting, using small Post-It notes to mark off certain articles and advertisements to reference at a later date, like threading ribbons through meaningful passages of the Bible. "Isabella? Is that the name you picked?" she asked, hugging the thick magazine to her chest.

"Yeah," I grinned, taking an ice cube and crunching on it as Dawn held the bucket next to my hand. "We wanted to name her after Barbara, but—we don't think Babsie wants that. So, this is a name that is special to us."

Dawn raised her eyebrows at Stacey. "Isabella. You know what that reminds me of."

"Oh, I know." Stacey raised a hand. "Isabella was Ernesto Toscano's sweet, good-hearted daughter who fell in love with Roman Brady, who was later revealed to not be Roman Brady at all but the kidnapped and brainwashed Forrest Alamain, now known as former evil Stefano pawn John Black, who is now a superspy and total beefcake of Salem," she said in an overdramatic manner, her hand flopping in time with the litany.

Her eyes glittered as she dipped one shoulder, waxing, "She was a major player in the Cruise of Deception storyline—that's where Jack and Jennifer totally did it for the first time? And Hope died. Well, not died per se, but Hope left the show and everyone thought she was dead, and Bo? Called her 'Fancy Face,' which, oh my God, I always wanted a guy to call me that."

"A guy who rides a motorcycle and is all scruffy hottie like Bo," Dawn said with a dreamy sigh, clutching the ice bucket close to her and settling on the armrest of Stacey's chair, leaning her blonde head on top of Stacey's. They had matching faraway smiles on their faces; I shivered at their sameness. Who the hell was Bo?

"Oh, agreed, though I kinda have a bit of a thing for John," Stacey mused. She looked at Logan and me and her eyes washed with sadness. "See, that's why Isabella's death was so devastating, because John was heartbroken. It was just him and Brady, you know? When Roman and Marlena named Belle 'Isabella' in honor of her. I? Cried," she admitted, swallowing hard.

Dawn put an arm around Stacey. "So perfect. And then, fucking John ended up being Belle's dad!"

Logan's mouth dropped open in shock. "Is this, like, a friend of yours from California? It sounds really dysfunctional, so I'm thinking yes?"

"No, dear General of mine, it's from Days of Our Lives. Stacey's mom tapes every episode, we watched all of the red letter miniseries and arcs from before we started watching it in ninth grade," Dawn said matter-of-factly.

"Sami on death row? Classic," Stacey said seriously. "That and Patch and Kayla's wedding when—"

"—when she regains the ability to speak!" Dawn squealed, balling a hand into a fist and giddily waving it.

I tugged at Logan's shirtsleeve. "Angel. I think we need to consider another name."

"Agreed," he muttered, staring in horror at the two girls as they blathered on about Lucas and Stefano and that "Patch" person. "Also off the list is Kayla, Hope, Marlena—and 'Fancy Face.'"

"Yeah, I was really about to lobby for that," I nodded.

"I could tell," he exhaled, sitting next to me on the bed. "You're a wild woman, tesorina."

"That's me, living on the edge," I said dryly, resting my head against his chest. "Me and the baby, we're getting matching tats tomorrow."

"I already bought the baby leather chaps," Stacey said cheerfully.

Dawn slapped at Stacey's arm. "I totally got the little motorcycle helmet. We are so five by five."

"Thanks for looking out for us," Logan said, pursing his lips as he nodded towards the girls.

"Hey. That's what sisters do," Dawn said sweetly.

"And the sister of my sister is my own," Stacey winked. "Or something. It was so much deeper when May said it."

I laughed, squeezing Logan's hand. This is how it should have been all summer, the four of us together like a circle of warmth. But we had it now: those two, closer than blood, deeper than love, and my husband and I. We had found a place that was home to each of us, that felt as clean as rain on skin. We finally fit together, seamlessly, guilelessly. We just had to give it time.

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"What are you doing?" Logan whispered as I tugged him under the bleachers. The gym was dusky and shadowed, the game long over and the rest of our fellow seniors probably half-drunk at another Stevenson party. We had the time.

I put a finger against his lips. "This is the best part of making up," I kissed into his neck, then turned away and pulled him deeper into the bowels of the dusty wooden stands, the hidden places that the guards would miss, if they came into the gym to check. But they had while I was watching Logan do drills after the game. There was time, enough time.

We had been fighting for three weeks, the two of us suffering as the basketball team has been losing. Logan did as he had always done, like he was still a little boy hiding his hurts behind the gray wall of himself. Tuck it away, try to pretend it isn't there. There is no stain, there is no tear, nothing has gone wrong. I grew tired of the ice and of the effort of thawing him, and we had decided on space.

That lasted two days.

We talked ourselves back to good at the park where we once ended the You and Me of my angel and I. And now—we make up.

It's the best part, you know.

I ducked us as shallow as we could, with Logan still standing, and wrapped my hand around his belt buckle. "Do you mind being a bit late to Abby's?" I breathed, biting his bottom lip and letting my eyes burn low into his.

"Who's Abby?" Logan muttered, squeezing my hips and swallowing hard. "Mary Anne—"

My finger pressed harder against his lips. "Shh," I exhaled. I licked the line of his ear and sent a line of warm air in like a whisper. "Trust me. And shhh."

I unbuckled his belt and slid down like a sylph. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him wrap his hands up around the step of a bleacher. I wondered, if anyone walked through that empty gym, could they see those ten fingers turning white as he held fast and wondering whom they belonged to? If they could hear his breath coming out as fast as a racing pulse? If they heard the way he panted my name?

If they could even imagine that, as I smiled up to him as I zipped his trousers back up after I finished, how something as stupid and reckless as third base under the bleachers of one of the few places that made him feel like home would be just the start of the things I would do for him. This, this was just sex.

I would steal for him. I would kill for him.

I kissed Logan so hard my lips burned. His hands seared into my spine.

I would die for him.

And I knew from the way he breathed onto my neck and rubbed a thumb over the thick scar that ran under my heart: he would die for me, too.

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"A C-section isn't the end of the world, you know."

"Kristy, not. Helping," I gritted, panting through the end of the contraction.

"I'm just saying! You could get the good drugs, take a breather?" she said, looking at Dawn to get her back. The two of them, good pals for so long now.

But Dawn knew: advocate surgery around me and get some serious hate. The last time I went into surgery, I almost died. Before that? I came in with breasts and came out with the fight for my life. The only sharp object I wanted to be under was Occum's Razor, and that was only with Erin charting the philosophical waters. Pass.

"The whole traditional birth is super significant to them. Because they are geeks," Dawn grinned.

"I'm way over the whole visitation hours thing," Logan said flatly, taking the washcloth from Dawn and wiping my forehead. "How bout you guys follow Jessi and Allison's lead and hit the road, huh? Have I mentioned how much I love those two? Knowing their boundaries?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Hush," I whispered. "Angel, can you go call Sharon, see if her flight is on time?"

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so transparent, oh belabored one." He kissed me. "You'll come get me if something changes?" he asked, glancing between Dawn and Stacey.

"I'm sure the next five minutes will be when everything happens at once," Kristy said in a tone so dry it radiated sarcasm like steam. She waited for Logan to leave the room before letting out a small snort. "Damn, he's clingy."

"She's about to have his baby? I think he's got good cause," Stacey said slowly, pushing off from the chair she was sitting in. "I'm going to go call Randa and Em, make sure they remembered to get extra pita bread."

"Let me go with you," Dawn said quickly. "I can just see Randa chucking everything that's not a gyro right off the order form."

The door clicked behind them, and it was just my best friend and I. Kristy looked—not the same. She was older than I had last seen her, a bit over two years ago, but not in a dramatic way. Yes, she was wearing jeans and a blue sweater; yes, her hair was the same color and had the same feel of hastiness as it hung in a blunt cut above her shoulders, her bangs hiding her high forehead. But I didn't feel familiarity when I looked at her, despite all of the quirks and mirrors to when we knew each other better than some children know a beloved book or bedtime story. Her eyes were so locked from me, etched with experiences and memories that I didn't share.

That she didn't want me to.

That I didn't want to.

She was here on the edge of one of the most important things in my life, but I could feel like my own skin: this isn't what she was hoping for. The time of KristyandMaryAnne had passed, it had waned like a bright moon cycling by.

Logan and I had survived. Thrived. Dawn and I, Stacey and I. Abby and Logan were email pals, Jessi and I were the same, if not closer. How did it come to this place, where Stacey and Claudia, Kristy and Mary Anne were the pairs that took "friends forever" as such a fleeting thing? How did that come to be?

Why didn't I really care, staring at this girl who was my childhood.

My hands stroked over my now-still belly. I was a woman now, like it or not. I had stopped looking backward when I lost my breasts. I didn't have the time to cry. I hadn't in a long time.

"I like your haircut. I think it's cute," I said with a small smile.

"I think I like you not pregnant. The whole yelling in pain thing isn't very you," Kristy said, her smile tilting as she leaned back in her chair. "Dawn said that you two picked a name?"

I shrugged. "Kinda? Isabella. Though Logan's second guessing that," I grinned. "We don't have a middle name yet."

Kristy nodded. "Well. Mom and Watson sent a huge gift for you, but it's coming in the mail. And I know Sharon's been talking to them nearly daily. If you need anything, Watson's in your corner."

"Yeah. They came to visit me when I was in the hospital back in Stoneybrook. Your folks are incredible," I smiled. I felt my throat tighten. Sharon was on her way; did Dad say anything to her as she left? Did he even care?

It was November. I thought…he would…

I sighed and looked at Kristy. "I don't know what to say to you anymore. Is that horrible?" I whispered.

"I don't know what to say either," Kristy said, puffing out a large breath of air. Her smile was kind. "Dawn needed help organizing the shower. I wanted to help, I wanted to do a mitzvah for you and Bruno and the baby? In a way…I guess I was coming to say goodbye," she admitted. "I'll always care about you. But—in a way, this is the end, I guess/"

Yes. "Are you happy?" I asked her, reaching my hand out to touch hers.

Kristy beamed at me, red-cheeked, her eyes open suddenly with happiness. Her hand was steel-tight around mine. "I really am, Mary Anne. I really dig it. School, my summer job with the Senator—oh, girl, Capitol Hill? It fucking rocks! Hell, I even have a boyfriend who isn't a total douchebag!" she said in amazement.

I laughed hard, swinging our hands slightly. "And for that, he should be bronzed."

"I know, right?" she laughed. Kristy let go of my hand and rubbed my belly. "I don't even have to ask if you're happy. You're getting what you have always wanted. You're gonna be a mommy, Mary Anne. Now you could die—"

Her eyes widened and she stared at me. "I'm so sorry," she gasped.

"No," I said in a hush. "It's true. I get to be a mother, you're right. I can die happy." I closed my eyes. "But it won't be for a long time. Not for a long, long, long time."

Kristy stood and barreled into me with a hug so fierce it could shatter windows. "I'll always be your first best friend," she whispered harshly.

"And I'm yours," I promised, clutching her close. She felt different—her body. But it was what was underneath that was so strange. The way her heart had changed since we had known each other's topography by the way we glanced at each other.

We held tight to each other until it was time to let go.

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"May, sweetheart?" the advisor of my service fraternity sang out.

I exhaled hard and looked at Jeremy in exasperation before standing, a sweet smile stapled to my lips. "Yes, Mrs. Martin?"

"We have some V.I.P.s that you need to greet," she said in a theatrical whisper. Her arm looped through mine. "You organized this, people want to see your pretty face."

Waffling my mouth into a chagrined smile, I thumbed back at the table as she hustled me towards registration. "There's so much work to do…"

"Which others can do," she clucked, weaving me around a clump of girls from one of Duke's social sororities, t-shirts with their Greek letters marching across their perfect breasts. Irony: a run to raise money for cancer, during the Breast Cancer Awareness month, sponsored in part by a sorority full of girls who stuff silicone and plastic into boobs that they took so massively for granted. I tried not to glance down at my own flat chest. I couldn't bear to wear the false bra today. That would have been rich: me, wearing falsies as I organized a 5K for breast cancer research. I had only been at Duke for a year; was I that good at hiding who I was?

No. My shirt was tight, and my eleven-year-old boy chest was on proud display. I tugged my baseball cap lower over my forehead and got my plastic grin in place. The coach of the Duke men's and women's teams had already come over to say hello, the sweet, small man who coached the guys' team asking again if I needed anything from him. Other than let my boyfriend's team beat his this winter, oh ha ha. I laughed with him and bit back the urge to beg, Tell me it won't come back. Tell me. You are one of the most respected men in America, you can move heaven and earth, tell me, please.

Instead, I handed him his baseball cap and free t-shirt and begged away as Barbara sent me a text message from Israel, wishing me good luck. I wanted to reach through the phone and pull her close to me, but she was on the other side of the world, keeping it safe. How awful was I, how selfish: all I wanted was to know if I was safe.

Grow up, Mary Anne, get a damn grip.

I let Mrs. Martin drag me to a large knot of boys who looked deceivingly like men, because they were so tall and big, looking so masculine even in their baby blue shirts. I bit back my giggle as she confided, "Now, their coach ran off to find Coach K, but at the very least, you can meet the nice boy whose idea this was. He's a sophomore like you! His girlfriend's a survivor, he told me," she said with a drippy smile.

"Is she," I said, swallowing back a giggle.

This is where a good person would have said something.

Can I use the excuse that she practically shoved me at him? Can I? No?

Well. I never said I was a good person, then.

"Mary Anne Spier, this is Logan Bruno," Mrs. Martin said grandly. "Mary Anne started organizing this a year ago. Logan is a guard on the UNC team? And he got his team and the whole Duke team to register for the run/walk," she said, pressing her hands together.

"Nice to meet you?" Logan said slowly, extending his hand towards me as he looked at Mrs. Martin with a confused frown. What's up? his finger curled into my palm.

"Likewise," I said back politely, shaking his hand once.. Wait.

Mrs. Martin smiled and backed away, and Logan's face folded in a bemused smile before pulling me to him and sweeping me up, kissing me deep and sweet. "Hey, pretty girl."

"Hey," I grinned, hugging him close, I pretzeled my legs around his waist. "You're going to stay with me, right?"

"You betcha. Though, I heard from a certain Tess that I know that she was going to get freaky with her iPod during the run," he said with suspicion, kissing me again. Kiss me all day and all night. "You and Regina?"

"Me and Ashlee, actually, I went back to my Hard as Nails playlist," I said confidently. "I swear, she's been keeping me sane. 'Outta my, outta my head, get outta my head, and all I hear is ay ya ya ya ya, you're talking to much,'" I giggled, rubbing my nose against his.

"Oh, my fucking God, will you two get a room already?" Keshawn bellowed, chucking his hat at us.

We laughed, and I slid off of his body. My mouth was halfway open as three women walked by. All of them bald, their head glinting in the soft October sun. Late thirties, early forties. One was puffy, one was skeletal, the other could pass as normal. Just by looking at them, I knew their drugs. Their cycle. Maybe even their stage. I could see the basins they had leaned over and vomited in to, I could feel the way their joints buckled and revolted, I could feel the itchy revulsion of their skin to the chemo, the bright red anger of the radiation. I knew the crying jags, the way death could really start to feel like an option, welcome like a lover. I knew the way the mirror became the enemy.

The way a full heart couldn't negate an empty chest.

When your body becomes a foreign land you want to bomb and burn.

Logan's hand held mine against his chest, that strong wall of himself. "Pretty girl," he whispered.

I stared at the women. Outta my head. I want you outta my head. Get out of my head.

You're in my head.

His arms wrapped around me, and his head tucked on my shoulder. "I'm right here," he said. "If it comes back, I'm right here."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to live," he said back.

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Dr. Chaplin tossed the rubber gloves into the garbage and gave me an excited smile. "Okay, Mary Anne, looks like we're getting close to show time! You're more dilated than a stoner at 4:20, baby, I'm calling in the anesthesiologist."

Dawn's eyes lit up at the mention of pot, but then she gave herself a jerk. "The baby's coming?" she gushed.

"Yup!" the doctor chirped, tightening her ponytail. She glanced at Logan and me. "Mom, Dad, you two better decide who's in the room, who's not. I've heard that this place has kinda been party central."

"If Dawn and Stacey stay, we stay," Miranda said, her mouth aggressive as she looked over at the other two girls.

"Do you wanna go?" Stacey said sharply, taking a step forward.

Dawn slapped her forehead. "Allison! She's been taking pictures all night, you'll want her to—"

"Stop!" Logan hollered. "Will you let us think? Please?" He leaned down and whispered in my ear desperately, "Make them all go away."

"I've seen A Baby Story, I don't want photographs of…it," I hissed. I looked at the four girls. "Guys, it's just going to be Logan and me. And necessary medical personnel."

"Gee, thanks," Dr. Chaplin said dryly, making a note in my chart.

Miranda's mouth dropped open, but Dawn stepped forward, grabbing Stacey by the wrist. "We'll go in the waiting room, keep calling Mom? General, darling, you'll come and update us, right?" she prodded.

"Of course," he promised. I saw him mouth something at her, and Dawn winked at him—winked?—and silently said back, Of course.

Stacey and my girls gave me kisses goodbye, and Dawn held my face in her hands. "See you on the other side, Mommy. I love you."

"I love you," I breathed. I smiled at her. "What did Logan say to you?"

"I said thank you," Logan told me.

"'Thank you, sis,'" Dawn corrected, winking again. She stamped her feet on the floor. "You're gonna have a baby! A baby! Come on, match baby, we're all waiting," she said into my stomach. "Come and make my sister all better, huh? And then come and let Stacey and me dress you all pretty, we're been shopping at PB Kids like whoa."

Logan rolled his eyes, cupping my hand in his and rubbing it against his cheek. "Well, there you go. That's why we gotta have the damn baby, so that she and Stace can shop."

Dawn gave him the finger and then kissed me again. She hesitated and gave his cheek a brush with her lips. "Just yell," she said again, before waving with each step as she disappeared out of the room.

Logan looked at me, taking in a deep breath. "It's you and me now, pretty girl."

It's always been you and me. A sickness. A want.

It's all about to change.

The pain of the contraction started under my pelvis; I opened my mouth to yell, but all I could feel was his hands around mine.

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"Come on, ref, that was so a foul!" I screamed, jumping up and down.

A hundred heads in the Duke student section turned slowly to stare at me in horror. Shock. Disbelief. Jeremy and Erin cringed; she hid her face in her hands, he stared at me in disbelief and slowly shook his head, sliding an inch away.

From the court, Keshawn and Veron stared at me like I had grown a second head. Oops. I guess I was a bit louder than I thought. Though Logan got off of the floor slowly, rolling his shoulder cautiously and then giving his arm a shake before heading to the foul line, not even acknowledging me.

"Come on!" I shouted to the other students, feeling suddenly naked, even though my face was painted with a large D. "He just got back from shoulder surgery!"

"Yes, May, so we cheer for our boys to rip it off and skewer him like a kebob!" one of the Krzyzewskiville monitors yelled back. "Good God, woman! You have before the first foul shot to redeem yourself!"

I bit at my thumbnail: what did I have on Logan. That he would still love me in the morning if I shared. The thumb sucking? He'd never speak to me again. How Hunter pronou—no. Something with the BSC. The—

"When we were in eighth grade, we dressed up as the cats from Cats," I blurted out.

The seniors around me let out an exuberant whoop. "Jellico cats!" A small group began belting out "Memory."

"We're all going to hell," I yelled to Erin as his first shot went in.

The students around us began meowing in earnest, screeching out the chorus of that song in a horrible key. She winced and laughed, "Yeah, but damn if the ride wasn't fun."

The game ended ten minutes later, UNC pulling away for a comfortable win. I pushed my way through the two rows in front of me and a reporter let me wedge in next to him at the press table as Logan came loping up.

"You cheered for me tonight," he grinned. He had a slick of sweat over all of his skin, staining the blue uniform in so many places. His face looked tired and hollowed, and I wanted to carry him home and low him into my bed, care for him until all of his pain went away.

My hand traced the scar behind his shoulder. "Yeah, it just popped out. Like cheerleader Tourette's," I sighed.

Logan kissed me, his tongue curving around the whole of my mouth, like his kiss could make love to me, too. He pulled back and took in a desperate breath. "Room four-twelve," he said. "I'll see you at the hotel in an hour."

"Okay," I whispered, letting him go. His sweat stuck to my face, and I licked at my lips, tasting the salt of his effort with all of the usual mints and gingers and sweetness of him.

Logan began to jog back to his team, but he stopped. There, in the middle of the court, in front of a throng of press, in front of thousands of students and parents and fans, he stopped and smiled at me, and I nearly squinted at the brightness of that face.

"I'm gonna marry you," he said loudly.

"I love you," I mouthed, pressing my hands over my heart. I could feel it so well. Right there. It beat in time with every step he took.

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"Come on, Mary Anne, push," Dr. Chaplin ordered, the top of her head visible as she peered between my legs. "I know you can do this, okay? Bear down and push."

I was melting, right there into a Mary Anne puddle on this bed. Someone get a sponge, my spine was in need of clean up in Room Three. "I'm getting so tired."

"I know you are," she said in that same calm tone. When did she become such a doctor, such an adult? "But you have to do this. You have to, Mary Anne."

Logan changed his grip on each of my hands. "Come on, pretty girl. Take in a deep breath. All the way from your toes."

"Toes can't breathe," I snapped.

"You sure about that?" he said evenly, wiping my brow with the cuff of his shirt, not letting go of my hands. "Why don't you try."

I glared at him. "You can't trick me this time, Logan."

"Who said anything about tricking?" he said innocently. "I'm just saying, maybe you should try before you tell me that something can't be done."

My teeth set down like an angry mountain range, and I dove down into my body and dragged out the deepest breath I had. The exhale turned into a scream, and my tongue slipped between my teeth. It wasn't the pain—pain was nothing to me anymore. It was the effort, it was draining my bones and transforming them into water. I had nothing to lean on, nothing on which to stand.

"Take it from me," he whispered in my ear, kissing my temple.

"How?" I whimpered.

"You just do," he said, winding our fingers like rope and holding so tight everything went numb. The lines between us disappeared and when Dr. Chaplin so smoothly told me one more push, I grabbed onto his sinews, his blood, his muscle and yanked it over into me, shrieking as if my voice would end, as if I would end, if I couldn't push.

Because it would. I would. Push. I ripped my nails through his energy, wrenched on his heart. Push.

Cam Geary look alike in the cafeteria.

The scar on his face from doing chin ups.

Blushing over bra strap.

The way his face looked in the candlelight from my birthday cake.

Eating cookies on my porch.

Kissing behind a closed door.

A bracelet that felt like a chain, a necklace that felt like wings.

Kind eyes, sweet eyes, blue eyes, solemn eyes.

The smell of his cologne on my teepee wear.

His hands on the tie of my red dress.

His hands in my shedding hair.

His hand, glinting with a wedding band.

I do. Hey there, pretty girl. Tess, can you move your car? I walked J.D. already, tesorina. You are my wife, and I love you, but I cannot do the dishes. Please, I love you.

I love you, I love you, I want you to live.

I pushed.

There was a cry, and it wasn't mine and it wasn't his. It was something new.

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"I think that's the last time that we can have sex before the baby comes," I said mournfully, splayed on my back as I stared at the ceiling. Stupid baby.

"Suck," Logan grumbled, burrowing his head in my neck. His leg wrapped around mine, and he rubbed at the huge mound of my stomach. His body was still warm and rubbery, and I could taste each one of his kisses, how each one became more tart and rich as it went on. "It was a good one to pause on, though."

"Yeah, it was," I grinned, rubbing my fingers over the curve of his head.

Logan was silent for a moment and then he sighed. "It's not that—like, I can't wait when we're older and adopt and everything, try to have our big family? But I kinda wish that—that this could make a baby again." He turned his head to look me in the eyes. In the dusk, his face looked like a child's, soft and gentle. "I know that's shitty to say, with everything that you've gone through. But I wish."

"I wish, too." I kissed him the way I did on our wedding day. Our hands met on top of my belly, our baby, and held tight. "I do."

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He was kissing the top of her head, but all I could see was the swirl of a pink blanket, as if he were cradling a puff of cotton candy and not a baby. "Hey there, pretty girl," Logan whispered, sitting down next to me. "Guess who got a clean bill from the nursery and wants to see her mommy?"

"I'm a mommy," I sniffed, accepting her in my arms. "I'm your mommy, Isabella. I'm yours."

Mom, are you here? Mom, are you watching? Mom, tell me this won't end like it did for us. Please.

I looked at this small thing with wonder. How could something so tiny…be? Have fingers so small, so perfectly capped with fingernails so pink? Have a face that was soft and scrunched with sleep? She yawned and a hand jerked open and then closed again, like a spring flower afraid of the frost.

"Angel, she has your nose. And your mouth," I hushed, glancing at him in excitement. This would be the best treasure hunt: I see you, I see me, in this little ball of perfect. "I hope she has your eyes."

"I want her to have your eyes," Logan said back immediately. He cuddled his face next to mine. "It's a baby."

"Well…if she had been a toaster oven, Dr. Paves would have already been in here and stuffing her full of English muffins," I whispered back, giggling into his kiss.

"I meant, she's here," he said, pressing his temple to mine. "She's here. And now everything is going to be perfect, tesorina. You'll have the transplant and get all better, and we'll live happily ever after. Except during football season, cause that's just stressful, seeing how the Lou does every year," he sighed.

"That's how it will be. You. Me. And her. And all of our dreams will come true," I murmured, sliding a kiss once more on his lips. I smiled and then closed my eyes. I was so tar-thicked tired. Why?

Ry.

My eyes snapped back open but were pulled shut again.

Ry. Dad.

I struggled them open again, focusing on that face that I knew as well as my own. Logan was peering at me in confusion.

My eyes slid shut again.

Now darkness.

"Pretty girl?" Logan said. When did he move so far away? My arms felt lighter. There was a buzzing noise from far away. From where Logan was? "Mary Anne?" Now he was echoing. Come back to me, Logan. Come back. I reached for his hand, but I couldn't move. Nothing was working, nothing would listen to me. Legs, arms, head, lungs, heart: everything was glued shut. Except—except—there was an earthquake that rattled up from my toes and make everything split apart.

From a mile away, I heard my angel screaming. And a new crying I had barely time to learn.

I opened my eyes.

Barbara smiled at me.