"John Noel and Thomas Ethan."

"I love those names," she said, and then hesitated. "After Ethan?"

"Yeah," I said, wondering if Ethan had told her how close we had become. If he hadn't, she was likely thinking that I was trying to infringe on her turf as Ethan's close female friend. It wasn't beyond the pale of my old tricks, and I felt another flicker of embarrassment over the person I used to be. Still, I resisted the urge to explain why the names were appropriate, and instead, rattled off the other birth statistics.

"How do you feel?" she asked softly.

I could feel myself relaxing as I said, "I'm fine. It wasn't a bad delivery… I'm just really tired now, but from what I hear, it only gets worse."

I laughed, but Rachel stayed serious. She asked if my mother was coming to help.

"Uh-huh. I just talked to her," I said. "You are only the second person I've called."

I wanted her to know the order. I wanted it to count as my between-the-lines apology. I didn't feel up to a full-blown examination of our friendship, but I wanted her to know that I was sorry about what had happened between us.

After a long pause, she said, "I'm really glad you called, Darcy. I've been thinking of you so much lately, wondering how you are."

"Yeah. I got your note. And the blankets," I said. "They're really special. I love them. Thank you."

"You're so welcome," she said.

"So how are you?" I asked, realizing that I wasn't ready to let her go just yet. I wanted more of her.

"Fine. I'm fine," she said somewhat hesitantly.

"What has been going on in your life?" I asked, referring to Dex, but also everything else.

"Well… I paid off my loans finally, and quit my job. I do legal work for an AIDS foundation in Brooklyn now."

"That's great," I said. "I know you must be much happier."

"Yeah. I like it a lot," she said. "It's so nice not to worry about billable hours… And the commute's not too bad."

I could tell she was avoiding any mention of Dex, so after another few seconds of silence, I said, "So you and Dex are doing well?"

I wanted to show her I was fine with the status quo. And although it still felt funny to think of them together, I really was remarkably okay with things. How could I begrudge anyone happiness when I felt so fulfilled and contented?

She made an umm sound, hesitated, and then said, "Didn't Ethan tell you?"

"About your engagement?" I guessed.

"Um… well, actually… Dex and I are… married," Rachel said softly. "We got married yesterday."

"Wow," I said. "I didn't know."

I waited for a wave of jealousy or bitterness to hit me. Or at least a healthy dose of wistfulness. Instead, I felt the way I do when I read about a celebrity wedding in People. Interested in the details, but not wholly invested in it.

"Congratulations," I said, understanding why Dex sounded wary of my call. The timing was definitely suspect.

"Thank you, Darcy," she said. "I know… this is all so bizarre, isn't it?" Her tone was apologetic.

Was she sorry for marrying Dex? For not inviting me? For everything?

I let her off the hook, and said, "It's fine, Rachel. Truly. I'm happy for you."

"Thank you, Darcy."

My mind filled with questions. I considered censoring them, but then thought, why not ask?

"Where was your ceremony?" I asked first.

"Here in the city. At the Methodist church on Sixtieth and Park."

"And your reception?"

"We had it at The Inn at Irving Place," she said. "It was very small."

"Was Annalise there?"

"Yeah. Just a few friends and our families… I wanted you to be there, but…" Her voice trailed off. "I knew you wouldn't come. Couldn't come, I mean."

I laughed. "Yeah. That would have been sort of weird, huh?"

"Yeah. I guess so," she said wanly.

"So where are you guys living now?" I asked.

She told me they had bought an apartment in Gramercy-which had always been Rachel's favorite neighborhood in the city.

"That's awesome… And are you going on a honeymoon?" I asked, thinking of their trip to Hawaii, but refusing to succumb to negative emotion.

"Yeah… We leave for Italy tonight," she said.

"Oh. That's great. I'm glad I caught you."

"Yeah. Me too," she said.

"So I hope you have a good time in Italy. Give Dex my best too. Okay?"

She said that she would do that. Then we congratulated each other again, and said good-bye. I hung up and looked at Ethan through fresh tears. The kind that come after you've survived an ordeal.

"I was going to tell you," Ethan said. "But with your preterm labor, I didn't want to upset you, and yesterday wasn't the day for it… Besides, I thought Rachel should tell you herself."

"It's fine," I said. "I'm surprisingly fine with it… I guess you were invited?"

He nodded. "Yeah. But I never planned on going."

"Why not?"

"You think I would have left you?"

"You could have."

He shook his head emphatically. "No way."

"You're closer to her," I said, perhaps to gauge his feelings for me, but also because I felt guilty that he had missed one of his best friend's weddings because of me.

"I'm closer to you," he said earnestly.

I smiled, feeling no sense of victory over Rachel, just an incredible closeness to Ethan. I wondered if he felt the way I did-or whether it was only love for a friend.

"And just look what I would have missed," Ethan said, gazing down at John and Thomas.

I thought about the two events-the birth of my babies and Rachel's wedding-transpiring virtually simultaneously, on opposite sides of the Atlantic.

"Can you believe it all happened on the very same day?" I asked him.

Ethan shook his head. "Frankly, no. I cannot."

"Guess I'm never going to forget their anniversary."

Ethan put his arm around me and let me cry some more.


On the day of our discharge from the hospital, Geoffrey stopped by to visit us during his rounds. He shook Ethan's hand, kissed me on the cheek, and admired my sons.

"What a nice guy," Ethan said after Geoffrey had left the room.

"Yeah, he could win the ex-boyfriend-of-the-year award," I said, thinking that as nice as Geoffrey was, I was still certain that I had done the right thing in breaking up with him. The fact that our relationship had weathered the transition to friendship so seamlessly was just further confirmation.

I put on the sweater that Ethan had given me for Christmas as he reswaddled John and Thomas in Rachel's blankets, handing me both bundles, one in each arm. Then Ethan finished packing our belongings, which had spread to every corner of the room.

"I don't want to go," I said.

"Why not?" he asked.

I tried to explain my feeling of wanting to stay in the hospital forever, with a fleet of nurses and doctors catering to me and my children. I felt envious of the women just going into labor, and told Ethan that I'd take the pain all over again for a few more nights at the inn.

Ethan reassured me that I had nothing to worry about. "We'll be fine," he said. "You'll see."


It was that we that held me together through those first crazy days and weeks at home. It got me through the fear that my babies would suddenly stop breathing, the frustration with breast-feeding, my insecurity during bath time, and all the other mundane but seemingly insurmountable tasks. Most of all, it got me through the agony of the sleepless nights. You hear parents of one newborn talk about how grueling the lack of sleep is, but experiencing the endless cycle of waking-feeding-changing with twins is simply not to be believed. Let's just say I understood why sleep deprivation is the number-one form of torture for political prisoners.

Our days weren't much easier. Laundry and dishes and bills accumulated at an alarming rate. Food disappeared even more quickly, and we often resorted to opening dusty canned goods rather than schlepping our delirious selves the few blocks to the grocery store. There were many days when we didn't even change out of our pajamas or brush our teeth before late afternoon. And I certainly didn't have the energy to put on makeup or blow-dry my hair or even look in the mirror except in passing, catching horrific glimpses of my matted hair, sunken eyes, and a lingering fifteen pounds, mostly around my middle.

In short, it wasn't exactly a breeding ground for romance, but there it was anyway, blooming between Ethan and me, evident in every small act of kindness. It was love as a verb, as Rachel used to say. Love that made me more patient, more loyal, and stronger. Love that made me feel more complete than I had ever felt in my glamorous, Jimmy Choo-filled past.

Yet on the surface, Ethan and I remained "just friends." They were two words that haunted me, especially when Ethan went off, every few days, to spend time with Sondrine. She was still his girlfriend. I was just his friend. Sure, we were friends who exchanged soulful glances, friends who slept in a bed filled with sexual tension, friends who found any excuse to touch, but I worried that we'd never take that perilous leap of faith toward becoming a real couple, a permanent team. I had nightmares of a tragic ending: Ethan marrying Sondrine while I returned to New York with Thomas and John. I would awaken, sweating and teary, tasting the grief and heartbreak I'd face if I had to spend the rest of my life wondering just how incredible we could have been together, if only one of us had stepped up and taken the chance.