I MEANT WHAT I said: I’ll support Abby regardless of whatever choices she makes here. It’s her life, and I know she’ll make decisions that are right for her. Sooner or later she’ll explain more to me about this “health stuff,” but I don’t need to know the details to know it’s serious.
If it wasn’t serious, Abby wouldn’t be considering selecting her baby’s father based on a four-line description in an internet database. When the screenshot of her potential donor’s details appeared on my screen, I was actually winded for a second. I really didn’t like the idea of Luca being Abby’s baby-daddy, but turns out, I fucking hate the idea of some anonymous stranger doing the job.
I exhale and push my chair away from the desk. I have a meeting in ten minutes, but I need some fresh air to clear my head first. It feels like someone has put my fucking brain in a blender this week.
“Hey, Isaac?”
My assistant looks up from his screen and gives me an expectant, eager look. “Yes?”
“Can you push back the digital campaign review? I need to take a lunch break.”
“How long do you need?”
“Give me an hour.”
Isaac’s eyebrows shoot upward, as if I’ve said something shocking, and I guess I have. Lunch breaks are not exactly a regular fixture on my schedule these days. “I’ll move that meeting to tomorrow since you have an opening at ten.”
I nod but as I walk past his desk, he calls after me. “You do have that workshop with Jess and Paul at four to run through the schedule for the company meeting next week.”
I wave over my shoulder to let him know I’ll be back in time, and then switch out of work mode as I head toward the elevator bank.
I was in my second year of college when Paul Winton told me he had an idea for a new kind of internet browser. We’d taken a freshman coding class together and had been partners for a group project, so I already knew that Paul was a prodigy. It seemed inevitable that one day he’d be talked about in the same awed tones our peers reserved for Zuckerberg and Jobs.
Everyone I knew respected his intellect, but even so, they generally thought Paul was an asshole—his social skills were woefully lacking. He was two years younger than the rest of our cohort because he’d skipped a few grades at school, and he was so focused on programming that he had little time for networking or even making friends.
But social skills are my superpower, and during that group project, I’d already figured out how to work with Paul. He couldn’t read subtext so I had to be direct. He didn’t tolerate stupidity so I either had to catch up quick or focus all of my efforts on clearing the way for him to do the work. He generally couldn’t tell when he offended people, but I had a pretty tough skin, and over the course of the project, I actually grew to like Paul’s no-nonsense style. When he asked me to help him develop his concept browser, I couldn’t say yes fast enough.
The first few years, we just toyed around with his ideas in our spare time, and an unlikely friendship formed. I helped with basic coding when I could, but mostly, I worked with him to refine the interface, adopting better design principles so the app was easy to use and pleasant to look at. By our senior year, we had something that kinda-sorta worked, but we had no idea how to take it to the next level. That’s when I suggested we bring Jess Cohen in. She was a business major, but in the classes we’d shared, Jess had equal parts terrified and impressed me with her cutthroat attitude and her skill.
Terrified and impressed is exactly how I feel about Jess twelve years later, by the way. She’s a force to be reckoned with, and every day I’m glad I’m working with her, and not against her.
Right after graduation, the three of us decided to go all in. We borrowed money from our families, locked ourselves away in the cheapest apartment we could find and set up our own “incubator” to develop our business plan. Paul and I slept in bunk beds in the only bedroom and Jess slept on the sofa...not that anyone did much sleeping in those days. Abby was still at college then. She used to bring us coffee and ramen, and she called us vampires because we didn’t see sunlight for months at a time.
It was two long years before we launched with more of a whimper than a bang, and then still more years where we only just made ends meet. But we held on and we kept the faith in the dream, and a few years ago, all of the hard work began to pay off.
Everyone said we couldn’t build a profitable business with a browser alone, but we did. Everyone said corporate clients wouldn’t pay to use a browser when their operating systems provided one for free, but they do. The Brainway browser provides a different kind of value—innovative security features, integrated social media and, if I do say so myself, a vastly superior interface.
Jess, Paul and I have hundreds of staff members to help us now, and we’re actually making real money. A few years ago, I repaid Mom and Jack the seed money they lent me, and because they refused to take interest, I paid off their mortgage and bought them a new car. Jess and her team are working toward an initial public offering on the stock market, and when that happens, we will have turned all those years of work into more money than we’ll know what to do with.
We’ve moved offices several times as the team grew, and now we lease a floor in a high-rise in the Financial District. We’ve also leased a small building in Silicon Valley and there’s a growing team there, too, although that office isn’t without its challenges. It’s hard to instill company culture remotely, and every now and again, Jess hints that I should head over to California to oversee west coast operations for a year or two. There’s far too much keeping me in New York for me to seriously consider her suggestion. Aside from my apartment and Abby and my life, most of my team is here.
My life looks exactly the way I always wanted it to, and it’s pretty fucking great. I have plenty going for me, and exactly zero nonwork commitments tying me down.
That’s exactly what I wanted.
Exactly what I want, I mean. It’s exactly what I want. That hasn’t changed.
Has it?
I step out into the street and walk down the block to a coffee shop. I order a coffee and a sandwich and take a seat in the corner. I tell myself I’ll work on my perpetually out-of-control email, so I pull out my phone, but instead I find myself navigating to the Favorites folder in my camera roll. Inside, there are just four photos.
There’s one of me, Luca and Austin at their wedding in Hawaii last year. There’s a second shot from the wedding, this one of Mom and Jack. There’s a shot of me, Paul and Jess on a working weekend away together at Paul’s vacation home at Greenport. Finally, there’s a casual photo I took of Abby last year.
She had done a livestream for her European time-zone subscribers earlier that day, so she’s wearing a full face of stage makeup and her chocolate-brown hair is carefully done. She’s wearing an Adventure Time T-shirt, and she’s holding a coffee mug, laughing at something I said.
She had just received a royalty payment but it had been much larger than she’d anticipated. Abby was so proud, and I was struck by the contrast in her from those awful months where I was genuinely afraid she’d never be happy again. Her happiness made me happy, and the glow in her face really was a sight to behold, so almost unthinkingly I picked up my phone and captured the moment. It’s a candid photo. It’s a work of art not because of my photography skills, but because of the radiant happiness on her face.
When Abby heard the sound of my camera shutter, she rolled her eyes and called me a weirdo. I sent the image to her mom, Eden, who accidentally replied with an eggplant emoji, followed that up with a GIF of a kitten saying “sorry” and then finally called me to thank me and tell me how beautiful Abby looked, how amazing it was that Abby had built such a successful business out of her hobby and how glad she was that Abby has me to look after her. I told her Abby didn’t need looking after, but that I agreed with everything else she’d said.
Staring at that image now, I’m surprised to feel a confused mix of emotions rising. I’m worried about Abby. I’m nervous about her health situation—what’s wrong? I’m also scared not just for her health, but because of the sheer compromise she’s making in pursuing a pregnancy this way. She’s clung to an oddly specific dream for her life for so long, and I know how she operates. Abby doesn’t change easily—planning out her life provides comfort and peace.
Abby as a mom, though...that’s an exciting prospect. I love kids, and the only real downside to my decision to stay single long-term is that I wasn’t sure I’d ever become a dad. Fatherhood itself doesn’t scare me—it’s the lifelong tie to a baby’s mother that makes me queasy. But if Abby has a baby, I’m going to be a big part of this kid’s life, and maybe that’s a reasonable second best to becoming a dad myself.
I can easily imagine myself getting up in the middle of the night to care for the baby so Abby can catch up on sleep; I’ll rock that tiny little person in my arms as I pace the hallway near my bedroom. Then it occurs to me that Abby’s bedroom/office is just one big space. Where will this baby sleep? Maybe we should swap rooms. I have a large bedroom, too, but right beside it is my home office. Abby will need all the room she can get once she’s juggling her business and the baby.
Although...maybe swapping bedrooms isn’t enough. I mean, my apartment is perfect for two adults. It’s adequate for two adults and an infant. It’s far too fucking small for two adults and a toddler. Maybe we should all move, then? I could afford something bigger now...something a little more luxurious for Abby and her baby. Maybe I should talk to her about it when the dust settles.
I guess the first hurdle is Abby getting pregnant. Now that’s going to be a sight to behold. I’d never paid any attention to Abby’s body, not until she was pressed up against me on that rooftop in January and I was suddenly very aware that my best friend was, in fact, a female best friend. Abby is magnificently curvy, and when she’s pregnant, all of those...assets...are only going to be more prominent.
Will she glow? She’ll be so excited. It’ll be nine long months of joyous anticipation. I can’t wait to share that with her. I can’t wait to do the midnight ice-cream runs and to rub her back when it’s sore. I can’t wait to set up a crib with her and to go shopping for stupid baby things I won’t know how to use. In fact, now that I really think about it, I’m kind of envious that I’ll just be a casual bystander—
And that’s when my brother’s stupid pep talk starts to make sense.
She’s going to get pregnant no matter what. I really think she needs you, Marcus.
And what was that nonsense fucking sports metaphor?
Sometimes life throws a curveball, and instead of ducking to get out of the way of it, you can lift your hands up and catch it, you know?
I fumble for my phone and send him a text.
Were you seriously trying to suggest I donate sperm to Abby?
I’m feeling odd—slightly flushed with a bizarre mix of panic and excitement that doesn’t make any sense. I stare at my phone, but of course Luca doesn’t respond immediately. I pick up the sandwich, but I’m no longer hungry. No interest in coffee, either. Maybe I’ve had too much caffeine already today because the jitters are setting in.
Just as I step off the elevator into the office at 3:58 p.m., my phone sounds.
Luca: Jesus Christ, Marcus. You’re supposed to be the smart twin. Did you only just figure this out? You might think you’re allergic to commitment, but you’ve always loved kids. And as for Abby, why do you think she asked me, idiot? Do you think maybe it had something to do with the fact that I’m your identical twin?
I stop walking and stare at the text, because he’s making a damned good point. It’s the obvious question, sure, but it’s one I haven’t even thought to consider until right this very minute. Why didn’t Abby ask me in the first place?
“Good, you’re back.” I look up in time to see Jess stick her head out of the boardroom and motion for me to hurry up. “Time is money, Marcus!”
“Just...give me a minute...” I say weakly.
I look back down at Luca’s message on my phone, and then back up at Jess, who’s staring at me now through a narrowed gaze.
I need to really, really think this through, and now just isn’t the time. Maybe later, when the office is quiet, I can process these thoughts and figure out if I should talk to Abby. For now, though, my mind is running a million miles an hour.
Just how quickly is she going to go ahead with this sperm bank guy?
Do I even have time to think about this, or do I need to talk to her right fucking now, before it’s too late?
Could I really just donate sperm to her, and pretend to her kid that I’m just an uncle? Or is this a chance for me to be a real father, on my own terms?
When did Luca get so smart? Is this Austin’s influence?
I sigh and slip my phone into my suit jacket, then step into the meeting and pretend to pay attention as my partners plan our yearly strategy workshop.
But as soon as the meeting is over, I go into my office and close the door. Staring out the window at the street below, I start to ask myself hard questions I never thought I’d want to know the answers to.
Because maybe there’s a way I can help Abby fulfill her dream...and at the same time fulfill a brand new dream of my own.