“Good, then you can do it again tomorrow.”

Adam gives in, knowing I need this. He grabs his keys and smiles. Maybe he even wants to be alone with me too.

“So what’s up?” he asks as he turns the engine in his car.

“Are you actually thinking about getting a divorce?” I ask. Divorce. The word expands like cotton in my mouth. I want to talk to my brother, my calming force, but the first thing that popped into my head might not have been the best topic. All I know is I’m not ready to share the new information Ted gave me.

“Divorce is a thing, Margot. Lots of couples do it. And it can make a family stronger.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’ve thought about it a lot, yes. Even before Eden.”

“Why?”

The one-word question is basically my cry for help, but Adam pauses as if he’s trying to find the right words to give me a real answer.

“Because I deserve better than the defunct marriage Aimee and I have. My girls deserve to grow up with a better model of love than our parents gave us. I’m doing the right thing, Margot. The hard thing, the sad thing, the painful thing—but the right thing.”

Knowing my brother the writer, he’s rehearsed this several times. It might even be in his newest novel.

“That sounds wonderful in theory, but in practice this will be a nightmare. Is Aimee going to invite me to every ballet recital, or it’ll be on you? Because you didn’t even show up to the last one.”

“I’ll be a better dad if I’m not avoiding Aimee.”

“You could stop avoiding her now and work this out.”

“I’m in love,” Adam says.

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned that and it doesn’t sound as compelling as you think. What about the girls? They need both of you.”

“No one is abandoning the girls. Even with divorced parents, they’ll be better off than we were. At least Aimee and I will be alive.”

There’s no way to argue that point, and even if I could, this distraction isn’t working. It’s only making me more agitated. I still can’t shake my conversation with Ted.

“Ted just told me he got a girl pregnant in college,” I say.

“He did?” Adam asks without missing a beat despite the abrupt change in topic. “Who was it? Avery?”

“Adam, that’s not the point.”

“Which is?”

“He never told me.”

“Until today. When he told you. Voluntarily.”

“I guess,” I say, considering how much weight that should have. Probably more than I’m giving it now.

“I don’t remember that happening in college,” Adam adds.

“You weren’t friends,” I say. “You barely knew each other.”

“Whatever, it’s not a big deal.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s ancient history. You’ve been together for a decade. What, are you thinking your whole relationship is a lie or some crap? Why are you upset with him?”

“We’ve been trying to get pregnant for years. Perhaps this was relevant before.”

“Why? It happens. Teenagers aren’t the bastion of impulse control and good practices.”

“Well, it never happened to me,” I say as we pull in to 7-Eleven.

Inside the store, Adam heads straight to the counter for cigarettes while I move to that weird aisle in the back where pregnancy tests sit next to infant pain relief and geriatric fiber pills. I stare at the two types of pregnancy tests, the expensive one and the store brand, until the packages blur. I stand there for a minute, maybe two or three, while tears stream down my face and my nose runs. I don’t have the nerve to buy them, not after what Ted told me.

I go back empty-handed to the car, where Adam’s already puffing on his cigarette. I can tell from his double take that Adam has noticed I’m upset. He stares ahead, quiet.

“What happened?” he asks.

“I couldn’t do it.”

“It must be painful, month after month.”

He’s right, but it’s different this time. “If I’m not pregnant, I’ll know exactly who is to blame.”

Adam shakes his head and starts the ignition. We drive in silence for a few minutes until we turn onto the north road. I stare out the window, not noticing anything we pass, and it’s not because of the lack of streetlamps. I’m lost in my anxiety.

“You can’t be solely responsible for something that requires two people. Just like I’m not solely responsible for my marriage falling apart,” Adam says.

“The affair doesn’t help.”

“It didn’t hurt either. I’m telling you, we were already broken.”

“Adam—”

“Stop, Margot. This is about you. If you keep taking on so much of other people’s stuff, one day you’re going to get fed up and lose it. Just like Mom did.”

“You’re comparing me to Mom right now?”

“You’re becoming her,” he says. “You take responsibility for everything.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is.”

“It’s better than acting like a victim,” I retort.