Like most good things in his life, it does not last, but he is still surprised when it all crashes around him. The day starts innocently enough, as these things normally do – his back hurts, so he backs out of visiting her mom, and she understands because she's just amazing like that. The chiropractor squeezes him in, which is damn lucky, he meets Norm for a quiet lunch, and then goes home to soak in his bathtub and watch the Marlins and hope for the day to just be over.

And it's maybe six or seven o'clock when the phone rings, but he misses it. He is in the kitchen trying to get some kind of dinner together and his cell is on the couch, and he is moving too slowly to get over there in time. He does not think much of it and keeps cooking off those salmon patties that have been in his fridge just a little too long, but the phone rings again. And the voicemail chime goes off. Then it rings again. And again. And someone is knocking on the door and the kitchen is getting smoky and his back twinges from turning around too fast and he yells at the whole universe to, "Calm the fuck down!" but someone is still pounding on the door and the phone is still ringing but at least he pulled the patties off the stovetop in time.

On his way to the door, he grabs his phone and sees all of the missed calls and voicemails from June. And he knows. He debates acting like he isn't home, just going back to the kitchen, putting his salmon on a bun with some lettuce and a little vinegar and lemon juice and hunkering down for the night while the rest of them hash this all out. But then she calls out, "Eddy, please let me in," and her voice cracks a little on his name, and he knows he cannot hide.

When he opens the door, she launches into his arms. It hurts to catch her, a sharp pain starting somewhere below his ribs and shooting down his legs, but he keeps that to himself so he can hold her while she collects herself. She is not crying, but she is not okay, and he can feel that as she shakes against his chest. They stand like that with the door open through three more phone calls, but on June's next attempt, Becca pulls away and wipes at tears that have not fallen and shuts the door and insists, "You should answer that."

"What's she gonna tell me that I don't already know?"

Becca just gives him a look, that do as I say smirk that is really more of a grimace right now, and she patiently falls into step behind him as he hobbles to the couch. He misses this call, too, and uses the silence to ease himself onto the couch. Becca sees the food spread out in the kitchen and assembles it for him, probably not making the salmon right but whatever, and brings it over with a beer and an assurance that she will return with a hot pack, "As long as you promise to call June."

"She'll know that I already knew."

"She deserves to know the truth."

He swallows a gulp of beer. "She doesn't deserve to have her heart broken."

"Yeah." Becca's back is to him as she rifles through the cleaning supplies in his hall closet. "Well, too late, I took care of that a long time ago." Before he can order her to stop beating herself up, she has found the Clorox spray and is leaving him to go clean up one of the messes he made in the kitchen. So, he takes a deep breath, and another, and one more for good measure, and he calls June.

And, just like he anticipated, it is the worst phone call of his life. Even in the midst of her personal tragedy, June thinks she is doing him a favor. The news is too fresh to have hit her yet, so she is not the mess that he expects, but rather a flat, emotionless friend calling to tell him the truth about the woman she knows he loves. But there is no hiding anymore, and when she realizes just how in the dark she was, fury hits her like a storm. She is crying, raging, calling all kinds of names and making all kinds of accusations that are not entirely untrue, and Edgar can only sit and listen as she puts all the pieces together. When Becca comes in with the heating pad, she can hear June's voice through the phone but tries to act like she does not as she adjusts the warmth behind his back so it hits just the right muscles, and then she vanishes again for her own good.

When June is all yelled out, she hangs up before Edgar can even contemplate defending himself. Not that he could. Becca slips in wearing his basketball shorts and a camisole to curl up on the floor in front of him with a cup of hot tea. The muted Marlins replay is the only light in the room now that the sun has gone down and he cannot reach a light from the couch. She could turn one on but does not, and he does not mind that. He wishes he could hold her, but if she tried to sit on the couch with him, it would only hurt his back more. His damn body is too fragile right now. But he can reach out and run his hand up and down her arm in a slow, soothing rhythm as she drinks her tea and watches the Rays absolutely cream their home team.

He wakes up to Let's Make A Deal and the smell of pancakes, neither of which he particularly wants to complain about. His back still hurts, but nothing like the night before, and he manages to sit up when Becca comes into the living room with his breakfast. They eat and talk like nothing is wrong, playing along with the morning game shows and making fun of each other's poor choices. He finds out that she is terrible at Price is Right because she has no concept of how much appliances cost, but he is really bad with the price of canned goods, so as a team they would stand absolutely no chance.

She tells him about her mom, who has taken up painting and makes some beautiful art. She has one in her car for him if he wants it, which of course he does. She promises to get it later even though there is nothing keeping her in the house at that moment except for a life insurance commercial. But he understands. If they open the door or check their phones or change out of their pajamas, they start their day, and there are too many things to deal with once reality begins. Right now, it is just the two of them, crappy morning TV, and a batch of banana pancakes.

He has so many questions, but he does not want to ask any of them yet. Is Becca all right? How did June find out? Where is Sig? What's happening to his brother's marriage? But all of it can wait.

Until it can't anymore. Somewhere in the middle of a Chopped rerun, reality knocks on the door. For longer than he is proud of, he considers ignoring it, but he overcomes that urge just as Sig yells his name.

"Not home!" He shouts towards the door, which makes her snort, but his brother is having none of it. Sig pounds a few more times and yells something along the lines of "Get your ass out here," which is a much harder task than his older brother probably realizes, but yeah, okay, he probably should go deal with this. So, he pushes himself to his feet and shuffles to the door and opens it up just enough to lean against the door frame and ask his brother, "What the hell do you want?"

"Is she here?"

"Does it matter?"

Sig opens his mouth, answer at the ready, but he stops and sinks back a little, losing a little of that intimidating height. "Well. No. You just…you tell her I know. And…" Sig rakes a hand through his hair. "And thank you."

"Thank you to me or thank you to her?"

But Sig is already down the stairs off of the porch and heading for a car, and Edgar wonders why it was so important to get off of the couch for this. He closes the door and turns to where Becca stands in the entryway, leaning against the wall just out of what had been Sig's line of sight. "You wanna explain that to me?"

She shrugs, arms still crossed over her chest. "Do I have to?"

And something about that just…well, it just doesn't sit right with him. Because he hasn't had the best night and his brother's marriage is falling apart and his sister-in-law hates him and he's being dragged out of his seat to get cryptic messages and the least he deserves is an explanation.

So, he should probably just say as much, but he is tired and frustrated and in more than a little bit of pain, so what comes out instead is, "Y'know what, you do what you want." Which is way more passive aggressive than he wants to be, but it doesn't feel exactly wrong to leave her standing in the hall alone.

But she follows, and it isn't exactly hard to catch up to the semi-crippled man, and demands, "What's that supposed to mean, Ed?"

"It means I'm a little tired, Becca. I didn't sign up to fall in love with the girl, yknow…" He gestures angrily through the air, still making a determined path for the kitchen and a fresh cup of coffee. "And I would just like, for once, to win out. To, to be your choice. But I can't even have that now that it's over. If it's even over with you two, which you've never even bothered to tell me that it is."

"Ed!" But her indignation doesn't really mean much when she knows that he is right, so she hovers uselessly as he tosses used coffee grinds down the garbage disposal like a man with nothing left to lose. "Ed." She tries softer this time, approaching carefully, reaching a gentle hand towards his as he rips open a new bag of coffee filters. "Let me do that."

He yanks the bag away. "Can you please just go away? Just, just leave me alone for a little?" He doesn't want to kick her out, certainly doesn't want his words to bite the way they obviously do, but he knows he needs his space right now or else he is going to say something he regrets. "I-I'm sorry. I need time to figure this out."

"Figure out what you want, you mean."

He shakes his head and finds comfort in scooping out new grounds. "You know I want you. I just need to figure out if it's worth being second place."

"Ed, you're not. You're my choice. You always have been."

"Don't. You know that's not true. How many times have we argued about this same thing, and you never stopped seeing him. It was always 'I have to figure things out' and never 'I know what I want' and I'm sorry, Becca, but I'm real tired of not being as clear a choice for you as you are for me. So, can you please just…" Just go away. Leave.

Maybe never come back.