Page 171 of The Difference Between

I rest my head on her shoulder. “Sorry for what I said about Darren.”

“Well—” She sighs. “If you weren’t barren, I’d hold it against you.”

Rue and I gape at her with open mouths. I deserve it after everything I said, but it doesn’t change how out of character it is for Remy to be the one to deliver it.

Rue says, “Baby sis, coming in with a zinger.”

Remy smiles with a cocky shake of her head. “I need zingers around you two.”

We laugh. She’s not wrong.

I drift around the room in a daze of disbelief. They’re all here. My whole family. Every single person I love in this world is squished between walls of frosted glass. They paid money to fly here and took time off work. For me. I hug Nash—he’s wearing a shirt covered in Chicago icons—and he tells me the vineyard had a great weekend—I already knew from Banyan. The kids race across the room on the rolling office chairs, squealing.

When I’m next to Gavin—in his tux—his hand finds mine and squeezes. I lava you, he mouths, and I might need a doctor because dammit, I’m crying again.

The view of the Chicago skyline is breathtaking, and the view over a North Carolina vineyard is even better. But the one right in this room? It might be the best one I’ve seen.

The conference room door swings open and Trish steps in, smile on her face as everyone greets her.

“Trish,” I say, “I’m guessing you’ve met everyone.”

She nods and waves to the room. “I did.” To me she says, “I’m heading home. Can I have a word, Reese?”

We step into the hall, the door only slightly dulling the sound of chaos on the other side. She and I are quiet a beat.

“They’re from the sabbatical,” I admit. “The one in the tux—” I take a breath. “He’s the donor. He came to get me because he wants me anyway.” I swipe my cheeks, my chest a centrifuge of emotions. “Even after I was mean.”

She rubs my arm. “Those are the ones you go home to, Reese.”

I open my mouth to tell her I need to think about it, but she already knows I don’t. I’m crying in the office, and kids are having office chair derby races—she knows.

“I quit,” I say.

“Good,” she says. “But we’ll miss you like hell.”

With a knowing smile, she goes to the elevator, waving as the door closes with her in it. It marks the first moment of the rest of my life.

The life where I can’t control what comes next or have any benchmark of success to chase.

Where my body might not grow a child of my own, but maybe something good can still come of it.

Where I’ll love a man ten years younger than me and help him raise a little girl with one extra chromosome who I’ll love more fiercely than I ever dreamed possible.

I will go to Fontain and grow grapes and sell wine and have dirty dishes in a kitchen sink. It will be messy and beautiful and easy and hard and I will choose all of it because that’s what excellence is.

I step back into the room, and all eyes turn to me. I don’t have enough food in my condo to feed them.

As I wrack my brain for a plan, it’s Gavin who says, “Y’all ready for what’s next?” At my look, he winks. “We all know how much Reese loves surprises.”

I don’t.

But when we pull up to Big Mini Putt Club, there are more tears, all of them mine. The place I’ve never been because I’ve been too busy working is where we have pizza and play mini golf. With a golf club in her hand and all her Overboard-induced dreams coming true, Addie has never been happier.

And there isn’t a single difference between us, because I haven’t either.

Epilogue

Six Months Later