I lean forward against the steering wheel. “About thewhat?”
“You know what.” She raises one brow.
“I genuinely do not.”
“Archer.”
“Sydney.”
She closes her eyes and releases a slow exhale. “The vasectomy.”
I stare at her.
Wait. I—
Oh.
Oh.
“You were set on it after the twins,” she says, eyes still closed, words rushing out now that she’s started. “I figured it was done, and I’ve been sitting with that for weeks. I didn’t want to bring it up because it felt like—I don’t know, like grieving a thing that was never mine. But I just—I love you, and I love your kids, and I needed you to know, even if it doesn’t change anything, even if you can’t—”
“Syd.”
“—and I know you can reverse them sometimes, but it’s a whole thing, and the success rate isn’t—”
“Honey.”
She opens her eyes.
I’m trying very hard not to smile. I’m failing.
“Why are you smiling?” Her voice goes flat. “Archer. Why are you smiling?”
“I didn’t get it.”
“You—what?”
“I made the appointment. Didn’t go.”
“You—Archer.”
“I drove there. Sat in the parking lot. Called and rescheduled. Then rescheduled again. Then I just kind of stopped. I guess deep down, part of me wasn’t sure.”
“You let me think—”
“I didn’tletyou think anything. You never asked me—”
“That is information you tell the woman you’re sleeping with. That is—that is a thing a personsays—”
“In my defense, I have been busy hiding the fact that I cried duringInside Out 2. I had a lot on my plate—”
“You cried duringInside Out 2?”
“Not the point right now.”
She presses both hands over her mouth. Her eyes have gone glassy, and her shoulders are doing that thing where she’s either about to laugh or cry, and her body hasn’t picked one yet.
I lean across the console and touch her cheek, tilting her face toward mine. Her mascara has smudged. I cup her face with both hands and rest my forehead against hers, and I can feel her breath catch.
