Page 39 of The Difference Between

I snatch the phone back and zoom in on his photo. “Why not? He’s thirty-six. An engineer. Good looking.”

“That photo doesn’t show his dandruff the size of snowballs,” Rue says. “Or the fact he comes into Old Vines nearly every week for action figures.”

I grimace. I would never screw a flaky-scalped action figure collector. He’s out.

“See? This is why I did this,” I say, haughty. “On paper he looked fine.” They’re quiet. “This is a good plan.”

Remy takes the phone, looking at the nine remaining contenders before handing it back. “I’m serious about dating, Ree. What if instead of doing all this you try to find someone? Get your happily ever after, you know?”

“Like you and Darren?” I sneer.

Her expression crashes.

“Jesus, Reese,” Rue barks.

Shit.

“I’m sorry.” My tone’s too aggressive to hold any real meaning. To Remy, more sincere, “I’m sorry, Rems. I didn’t mean it. You know that.”

“I know,” she says.

“It’s just—” I blow out a long breath, and look out the kitchen window, fixing my gaze on the old oak in Mom’s front yard. “I don’t know how to find someone. I’m busy with work, but it’s not just that, it’s . . .”

The whole truth is, I don’t know if I’m made to have a love like that—if someone exists who I want to let love me like that. Yes, I’m busy, but I’ve never met a single man I’ve felt compelled to be less busy for. Who doesn’t hold my drive for excellence over me like it’s a rash to be dealt with. Maybe that’s not how it works, but it seems like it should. Like there should be at least one man on this earth who can love me in a way that makes me want to run home to him every night and leave work at work until the next day. Someone I want to get close to and let get close to me. If there is, I’ve yet to meet him. And I can’t admit this to them, but my baby will love me because that’s what babies do. Because it will be part me. I’ve never met a man I’d slow down for, but I will for my child. I know it in my bones and the empty space deep within me where cells will evolve from zygote to fetus. Yes, I might have gotten here because I don’t know how to turn it off and lied, but I want to be here.

“I don’t know if that man exists.”

My sisters exchange a look that says we think this is stupid but let’s not argue with her.

“Fine,” Remy relents. “If this is what you want, I support you. But let the record show, I do not support the stealing of medical information.”

I snort. “Noted. But I might’ve had a dandruff baby if I hadn’t.” To Rue, I ask, “What about things with Nash? Are you really trying for another?”

She smiles, wicked. “We are committed to the effort.”

Remy cackles at this.

“Tell me, sis,” I say, “is it your husband’s ridiculous shirts that get you all hot and bothered?”

“Who’s hot and bothered?” Mom, that sneaky rat bastard, takes slow steps around the corner and enters the kitchen. She’s out of pajamas and there’s peach fuzz around her incision. At just over three weeks post-op, she looks incredible.

She’s nearly slept herself healed.

“Will you ring the damn bell and use the walker?” I bark. “And stop sneaking around.”

“It’s my house,” she snips, taking a glass of water Rue offers. “And I can’t lay in that bed all day, it’s hurting my back. I’m supposed to get up and move.” She pins me with a look before smiling at Rue and Remy. “What are you two doing here? Where are the kids?” She cuts her eyes to me. “Or is this a scheduled visitation where Reese forbids them?”

They laugh at this.

“Funny,” I say flatly. “Post-op protocol suggests minimal visitors, in case anyone cares.”

“Same as when you bring a baby home from the hospital.” Rue retrieves a bag of grapes from the fridge. “Which reminds me, Mom, Reese has to tell you something.”

If I wouldn’t have to clean up the mess and dispose of her body, I’d kill my sister with a smile on my face.

“I knew it.” Mom sets her water down and glowers at me. “I knew there was more going on with you.”

I’d also kill her.