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  As she cursed, he froze. She couldn't feel badly about it, though. Because it was their fucking anniversary, a milestone her other friends, many times divorced, could only dream about, and he picked the worst moment possible to rip her heart out.

  "Is there someone else?" In a way, she hoped the answer was yes. That, at least, was a reason she could understand. It would give her someone to hate as well, a direction for the unraveling and wild anger that was building heat in her belly.

  Shane shook his head. "No. I didn't cheat. I'd never do that to you. Meg, please. I can see you doing that thing—”

  "What thing?"

  "The thing where you start trying to patch a situation together. You like to push things into packages that fit neatly into your life."

  "Um, that's called being an adult, Shane."

  "This is being an adult, too. In fact, I think this might be the first grown up choice I've made in a long time."

  "To desert your wife and children? How very brave of you." The words were oil-slick and slid out before she could grab hold of them. More than that, Meg found herself approving of the wounded expression on Shane's face. Things were becoming ugly, and she was half tempted to pour gas on the flames.

  "Christ," Shane said, sagging back in his chair. "Would you just listen? I'm not deserting you or the kids. That's why I went to talk to a lawyer. You can meet her, too. She'll explain things like the house, and shared custody—"

  Meg slapped the table. "You do not get shared custody. You don't get to rip me apart and keep them." Tears stung and flowed. Her napkin wasn't going to keep this flood hidden. Great. Now I'm that woman making a scene in the restaurant. It was a small room, long and thin. Most of the tables were pressed against walls, leaving a galley for the waitstaff to flow back and forth through. Twisting the napkin in her hands, she refused to look and see who was already watching them and whispering.

  "Calm down. Take some deep breaths." The knife twisted. That he had the audacity to sit there and tell her to calm down stung as much as the rejection of the divorce. He truly didn't feel anything about this. No remorse. No regret.

  But they'd been together so long she couldn't ignore his command. Meg did calm down. She breathed deeply. She placed her napkin back in her lap, smoothing it out with her hand. She drank the last of her cocktail, not even tasting it. "Okay. I'm sorry. You've caught me off guard."

  "Of course. I shouldn't have taken us out to dinner, but it's so hard to get you alone at the house."

  A prickle of guilt threaded through. Yes, that was true. Between Ben's bounding energy and need for constant hugs and reassurance to April's magnetic personality that drew her to Meg, only so they could push each other away, meant there was rarely space for just Shane and Meg. "Is that what this is about? Are we not having enough sex?"

  "Meg, no. Please. You're searching for a fault, or something you've done wrong. The problem isn't that you've done anything wrong, or that I've fallen in love with another woman. It isn't the kids or the sex. It's just that you are all I've ever known. For so long, it was enough. It was more than enough. But I'm getting older and I keep feeling like there's more. That you and I took the easiest path, the one that didn't risk anything, and now—"

  "Most people don't want risk in their marriage."

  "Are you saying you're a hundred percent happy with me? That you've never wondered what it would be like to fall in love as an adult? To date? To see the world as Meg, not just Meg and Shane? That's how our families and friends refer to us, you know. Meg and Shane, Shane and Meg. Like we're not allowed to be individuals. Haven't you ever wanted to just be you for a while? Without me?"

  She sat, blindsided. She was mad at herself for losing her anger. "If I say that I've never considered it, does that make me a bad person?"

  "You could never be a bad person."

  "Why didn't you tell me? Why not go to see a counselor? Talk about it?"

  "Because, even if I'm wrong, I didn't want anyone to talk me out of it. This could be the biggest mistake of my life, Meg, and I still feel a need in my bones to make it. I love you, but I'm not in love with you anymore, and I want the best for both of us. And I’m confident the best is for us to separate."

  She was suddenly tired. The crying had been the tip of an iceberg. She'd staunched her tears, but they were hidden in the tightness of her throat and the pain in her chest. Her mind was sluggish, cycling through all that Shane had said but unable to make it line up with her expectations and dreams. Meg felt split between two worlds, like she'd been pushed under the surface. Sounds muffled and time slowing to the twist and thump of her heart. This time, though, she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to come up for air.

  THEY SAT IN THE CAR, the engine running but the lights off. It was warm inside, too warm, but Meg stayed. As soon as she got out of the car, it would be as a single woman. She hadn't been single since she was fourteen. Maybe she should be like Shane, should find it exciting. But all she felt was jagged claws of horror. How was she supposed to explain this to the kids? Who would keep the house? What would holidays look like?

  Shane had made one decision and it created hundreds of rippling questions, a pond of uncertainty that Meg was being forced to wade into.

  "Does Jamie know?" The question tasted sour on her tongue. But she had to know, didn't she? Because if Jamie had been there that night, complimenting her and hanging out like nothing was wrong, all the while knowing that Shane was planning—

  She wouldn't do that, Meg thought, reassuring herself. Shane and Jamie might be twins, but Jamie was her best friend. Jamie wouldn't let her walk into a dinner like that unprepared.

  "No, I haven't told her. I haven't told anyone but the lawyer, Meg. I respect you too much to gossip."

  He was trying, she knew, but that didn't stop the feeling of a hot butter knife slowly carving her heart and lungs apart as she listened to him. Jamie didn't know. Which meant they'd have to tell her, too. Meg realized she could stand losing the house and she could live with sharing the children, though it wouldn't be without anger. But she wouldn't survive losing Jamie, and if she had no other reason to hate Shane, reasonable Shane, it was that. That he was putting her friendship with her best friend on the line all so he could sow his oats, or whatever bullshit midlife crisis plans he had.

  "I'll tell her," she said, dully. She needed to be in control of something, and the breaking of her heart (and Jamie's) was one thing she could cling to.

  Shane shifted in the small leather seat. God, this car was ridiculous. She looked at its LED-lit dashboard and the various buttons for gadgets and thought about how she should have known he was having a crisis. But she didn't. She'd applauded him for finally rewarding himself instead of always putting the family first. She'd told him it was time to take care of him. If only she’d known the direction he’d take that advice.

  "I think I should be there to tell her. We both can, at least."

  Meg rolled her eyes, though all it did was shake loose the tears she'd been trying to will not to fall. "Oh? Are you afraid I'm going to turn her against you? I'm just going to tell her the truth."

  "She's my twin. I should be there."

  He really does think I'm going to poison her against him. As if she could. Jamie and Shane were a package deal. She'd always known that. If you dated one, the other was going to be in the backseat. In her case, it'd been fortunate. She loved Jamie, so terribly much. It was why the prospect of losing her one top of everything else was the straw threatening to break the camel's back.

  "Are we telling her tonight?"

  "You don't have to," he replied. "I wanted to tell you privately and then let you decide how and when we tell people."

  "Because you respect me so much?" She spat it and it sounded as bitter as it felt in her mouth. But dammit, she refused to feel guilty about it. He might not be a liar or a cheater, but he was breaking her heart and she didn't have to protect him from the pieces.

  "Maybe we'll wait," he said, glossing over her a
nger. It only enraged her more, but she managed to tamp it down.

  "I'll go see if the kids are asleep. And I'll get some blankets and pillows ready for you."

  He stiffened. "What do you mean?"

  She turned then, finding courage in her anger to look at him. "You're sleeping on the couch. You don't get to take me out on our anniversary, on the first date in over a year, tell me you want a divorce, and then come to bed. Are you fucking kidding me right now?"

  Shane managed to look like a kicked puppy. Goddamn him. "I thought we'd be adults about this."

  A shiver of rage tickled down her spine like a spider. "No, you don't get to do that. Okay? You respect me? Then don't try to make me out as being unreasonable because I'm not going along with this with a smile on my face. You can have a divorce. I'll even save your skin in front of the kids. But my asking you to give me some space after you have ripped my entire life apart isn't being childish."

  He held up his hands, defeated. "Okay. Sure. You're right. I don't know what I was thinking. Habit, I guess."

  "Let's go inside. We'll send the kids somewhere tomorrow and figure out the details, okay?"

  "Whatever you need, Meg."

  As if he could give that to her.

  Three

  Jamie watched as Ben played, fingers moving nimbly on the Playstation 4 controller. His eyes were glued to the screen, the lights of the game flickering on his face. Red Dead Redemption 2 was a game she'd have thought too mature for the 12 year old, but she wasn't his parent. Jamie was Ben's aunt and besides, watching him play was almost as satisfying as watching a movie. Games had changed so much since her Final Fantasy 7 years. Now that had been gaming. Jamie and Shane had fought so viciously over who got to play that their mother caved and purchased a separate console and television for each twin. Those had been great days, each of them sitting and playing, headphones over their ears and casting occasional smiles at each other.

  Shane had been there when Sephiroth killed Aerith and Jamie had cried, heartbroken over losing the animated girl she'd had a crush on. Of course, Shane had been there for the first real girl Jamie had a crush on. Had been there and then had stolen her. And dated her for years. Married her. And produced a kick ass niece and nephew. The crush on Meg had faded long ago, leaving only the warmth of memories and some stories that made her laugh as she thought about the jealousy she'd carried in middle and high school. Now Meg was her best friend and Jamie felt lucky to have been able to be a part of her life for so long.

  How many people could boast becoming family with their best friend?

  Thank goodness Meg had reminded Shane about their anniversary. That, and a little strong-arming from Jamie, had pushed him to make reservations and treat it as the special thing it was. Crawford and Sons was a good restaurant. More importantly, it was small and had amazing food, so the dark and romantic atmosphere and the gourmet dishes and drinks would make Meg feel special.

  Ben pumped his fist as he won some sort of shooting battle, his character easing the gun back into its hip holster.

  "This a good stopping point?" She asked. The clock on the mantel showed it was nine, and she usually let Ben stay up until ten. But ten was lights out and she had years of babysitting experience to know her nephew needed at least forty five minutes to unwind from screen time before his body and mind could rest long enough to find sleep.

  There was a flash of defiance and, had she been Meg, Jamie was sure Ben would have pushed back. But she was Jamie, the cool aunt (she hoped) who didn't ask too much of her nephew. She'd let him eat his dinner on the couch, drink a large glass of Sprite, and play almost two straight hours without asking for a turn. He nodded. "Sure. Thanks for watching." He said it low, as if he could will his voice to drop into a man's depth instead of his boy's tenor.

  "I like spending time with you. Thanks for letting me hang out."

  "Mom made you come over." This retained that edge of petulance. Oh, Ben. Don't rush into the attitude. April gives your mom a hard enough time as it is. "But I don't need a babysitter."

  "Well, you aren't a baby and not once did I sit on you, so I think you're right."

  He tried not to laugh. His lips locked and his nose wrinkled. So Jamie stood and turned, showing him her bum. "Do you see a baby? Did I accidentally sit on one? Do I have a baby stuck to my ass?"

  The word "ass" tipped the scales and Ben lost it, giggling and shaking his head. Still got it, she thought, knowing her days were numbered. Soon Ben truly would be like April, too cool for parents and aunts. Any jokes Jamie made would be met with rolled eyes and heavy sighs, and there'd be no shared space for hours. Ben would be hiding up in his room, music cranked and texting like it was his job, just as April was doing at that exact moment.

  Jamie had to admit that while she'd never wanted kids, she was glad she had these ones in her life. And, she realized, she really would miss the kid aspect of them. How her niece and nephew used to play with her, and roll on the floor with laughter until Meg would beg, tears in eyes and hand wrapped over her belly, for them to stop being so silly or she'd pee her pants. Jamie would miss the hugs and the snuggles and the big moon eyes filled with trust and unconditional love.

  If she, the aunt, felt this way, she could only imagine how Meg must be feeling.

  "Okay. Tell you what. I'm going to trust you to brush your teeth, put on pajamas, and read until ten. You can turn off your light and I know you're too big for a tuck in."

  Ben wavered, clearly pleased at being allowed autonomy but needing something more. "Well, maybe not a tuck in, but it'd be cool if you came up to say goodnight."

  "You got it, dude. See you in an hour."

  He smiled before dashing upstairs, his overly large feet threatening to trip up the long, awkward limbs. But there was a grace unique to the preteen boy, a confidence she envied, and he didn't stumble. She was alone in the living room. With practiced ease, she began putting the room back into Meg-approved condition. Plates and dishes were returned to the kitchen. She should make the kids do this, but if Meg and Shane had a night off, the kids deserved one, too. Besides, Jamie didn't mind a little home-upkeep. She was so rarely in her own apartment, and she kept it sterile and modern. There wasn't much of this for her to do, and occasionally she envied Meg's cultivated life with it's cushy couches and daily mess.

  After loading the dishwasher and wiping the counters, she made sure no water rings had made it onto side tables, reorganized the magazines on the coffee table, and straightened the cushions on the sofa. It was such a comfortable house. The sofa was a cute denim color, something Jamie had balked at when Meg had first shown her but grown to love. She had to admit, it had been a clever move on Meg's behalf. The fabric was sturdy and the color unobtrusive, and most importantly, stains could be cleaned out with ease. It was made to be used, and that meant lots of family time.

  Unsure of what to do until ten, Jamie pulled out her phone. A few texts from friends saying the clubs they'd be at that night. Most of them were trying to decide between meeting at The Bar or Pinhook in Durham. Jamie frowned. It wasn't that she disliked either bar. Far from it. Many, many good nights had been had at each. The Bar was her hookup spot. It was easier for her to meet women there and the atmosphere felt safe and laid back. Pinhook was fun, but she always felt too old there and out of place. Sort of like she was somebody's mom instead of there for pleasure.

  She put her phone away without responding and grabbed a photo from a table. It was all of the Stewarts. Shane with his arm over a beaming Meg, April still young enough to not have the permanent sneer on her face, and Ben so small Jamie experienced a rush of love and warmth for the boy he’d been over again. Her eyes were drawn back to Meg.

  In the photo her hair was too dark. It'd been taken about ten years ago, when Meg had first started finding gray in her hair. Panicked, she'd rushed to a salon before the family photo and come out looking more Elvira than she'd likely intended. It'd made her pale skin appear washed out and her eyebrows almost nonexistent
. Shane's shaggy dark hair was also becoming peppered. Jamie and Shane had both greyed early, but it had stopped at about sixty percent, leaving them with dashes of near black throughout the gray. "Silver Foxes" Meg liked to tease. Jamie had to admit that since going gray she'd found it easier, not harder, to find women to date. Who knew there was such a fetish for gray-haired ladies? Not that Jamie was complaining.

  Even with the too-dark hair and the washed out skin, Meg was brilliant. She'd been pretty in eighth grade, when they'd first become friends. Definitely had rocked the girl-next-door vibe with casual t-shirts and baggy jeans instead of the tight blouses and short shorts the other girls were beginning to wear as they test drove their newly woman-shaped bodies.

  Meg hadn't cared and Jamie, finally admitting that she was gay, had fallen head over heels for the don't-give-a-fuck attitude. They'd fallen in together with ease, eating lunch and sharing homework answers. Jamie had dropped hints here and there, seeing if Meg was interested in something more than a friendship.

  Her hand shook at the memory, but it was enough for her to set the picture back on the table. Jamie had led a pretty easy life, relatively speaking. Despite being a butch in the South, she'd grown up in a progressive city. No one in her high school had cared that she was an out lesbian. She hadn't been bullied and, apart from a few scary moments in bars and in college, she'd never worried about her safety. It was lucky. She knew it and was thankful. But there were a few traumatic experiences that were rooted in her history, so deep that they still had the ability to unnerve her.

  Jamie knew how fortunate she was that one of these memories, of finding out Shane was going to get Meg, was one of her worst. If losing a crush to a sibling is as bad as you have it, then you have it pretty sweet. She knew that. But it didn't stop the sting of it. And while plenty of things had faded in time, like how to do long division or the dates of early American history, that memory remained crystal clear, as if it were encased and preserved. What she wouldn't give for the mallet that would allow her to smash it wide, spilling all the hurt and betrayal so that it didn't haunt her anymore.