LITMIR.BIZ

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big talk? This is so exciting. You’re finally in love, and I’m finally going to see Europe because I will not miss your wedding. You’d better invite me.”

      “Actually, I need to break up with him, ASAP.” India kept her expression pleasantly matter-of-fact during the pause as the phone app sent her words from Belgium up to a satellite in outer space and back down to Texas.

      She heard Helen’s voice a second before the video showed her friend wrinkling her nose in disappointment. “Oh, India. What’s wrong with Jerry-Perry?”

      “Gerard-Pierre. But close.”

      “It sounds better when you say it. I can’t keep up with your exotic European men. But seriously, hasn’t he been your only exotic European man for forever?”

      It was India’s turn to wrinkle her nose. “Only a year. Just about as long as you’ve been married. Happy anniversary, by the way.” She knew the satellite would beam her a delayed image of a much happier expression on her friend’s face.

      It did. A second later, there Helen was, beaming like a new bride. “Thanks. It’s flown by. We still haven’t gotten a chance to take a honeymoon.”

      “But the new house?”

      “We just moved in. There’s still some work to be done, but it’s livable. I love it so much. We’ve got acres of land. It’s so quiet, you can hear the babbling brook. The dog is in heaven. Now stop trying to distract me. What did Gerard-Pierre do?”

      “He wrote me a note.”

      “Uh-huh.”

      India held up the note.

      Helen leaned into the camera. “You’re going to have to help me out here. Number one, this video isn’t clear enough for me to read it, and number two, I bet it isn’t in English.”

      “It’s French.”

      “The man’s name is Gerard-Pierre,” Helen said dryly.

      “He knows English, though. He just refuses to use it. I bet your man writes you notes in English.”

      “Well, yeah, but his name is Tom Cross, and he’s an American. Are you breaking up with Gerard-Pierre because he wrote you a note in French, or is it because he said something awful in French?”

      “He wrote...” India scanned the note. “That he wants to talk to me tonight after dinner—that’s after his dinner—because he just found out that his parents and his sister and his nieces are going to be here for Christmas. He says this affects our holiday plans.” India waited as the satellite in space did its thing.

      And she waited some more.

      Helen tilted her head, and looked like she was waiting, too.

      “Is our connection frozen? Did you get that?” India asked.

      “No, I only heard that his family is coming for Christmas.”

      “Yes, that’s it.”

      “What is?”

      “That’s why we need to break up. I can’t do the family thing.” India tugged at the black tab tie at her throat until the Velcro closure gave with a satisfying little ripping sound. She unbuttoned the top button of her white blouse. “No family. It never goes well.”

      Helen shook her head slowly, like she felt sorry for India. “It could go well. His family could love you. You could love them.”

       That’s what I’m afraid of.

      “No family scenes for me. I have to call it off. I’m just better at being alone.”

      * * *

      Major Aiden Nord stared at the note in his hand. He’d never felt more alone.

      He hated being alone.

      Once upon a time, he’d been happy enough to be on his own, swaggering his way through the army as a bachelor officer, spending time with women who enjoyed spending their time with him. He vaguely remembered being free to schedule his off-duty hours without worrying about anyone else’s wants or needs, without worrying about whether or not anyone else liked what he’d chosen for dinner, or whether or not he was staying up too late and the volume of his television was keeping them awake.

      Whether or not the fairy book had been read more times than the puppy book.

      Whether or not the sandwich should be cut into triangles or squares.

      Aiden was a family man now. Four years ago, his wife had given birth to their fraternal twin girls, and Aiden hadn’t stopped worrying about other people’s needs since. Two years ago, his wife had died—the unfairness of her shortened life still maddened him, would always madden him—so he shouldered all those worries himself. Were his daughters hungry? Tired? Happy? Scared? It all mattered now, far more than his own wants and needs mattered.

      Aiden worried about Poppy being on the small side of the pediatrician’s height-weight chart, although his wife had been petite, and the doctor thought Poppy was simply taking after her. Aiden worried about Olympia, who was turning out to be tall with darker coloring like his, but who would surely stunt her own growth by refusing to eat practically every food in existence. He worried about things he’d never known parents worried about until he’d become one himself. It was constant. It was exhausting.

      He loved it.

      He loved them, and he loved being with them, but the note in his hand included the address of the vacation beach house where his sister had taken his daughters for the week to visit with his parents. An entire week lay before him without constant negotiations, constant questions, constant little fingers reaching for things they weren’t supposed to touch. An entire week without his children.

      In black ink on white paper, his sister had written “Enjoy being a bachelor for a week.”

      Not likely. He didn’t remember what it was like to chug milk straight from the carton rather than pouring it into purple sippy cups. He didn’t remember how to swagger through work without keeping an eye on the clock and the day care center’s hours in the back of his mind. He didn’t remember what it was like to take a woman out on a date without checking his watch to make sure he still had time to get the teenage babysitter home before her teenage curfew.

      He didn’t want to remember. He wanted his family.

      * * *

      “Would it really be so awful to meet Gerard-Pierre’s family?”

      India unbuttoned another button on her blouse and cleared her throat. “It’s hard enough to tell someone that you no longer want them in your life. It kills me when I’ve met the family. Do you remember the guy I dated in Germany? His oma made me a whole cake to take with us when we left her house. His baby sister drew me a birthday card. It was awful.”

      “India, that’s not awful. That’s a loving family.”

      “When I broke up with him, I had to reject a sweet grandmother and a cute little girl, too.”

      “You had to talk to them? They were there?”

      “No, but he reminded me how much the whole family had loved me. I told him his family was wonderful, but that only made the breakup harder for him to understand.”

      That wasn’t exactly true. It had made things easier for him to understand. India could still see Adolphus standing there, handsome in his quiet way, hands in his pockets and tears in his eyes. I see, he’d said. My family is wonderful, but I am not wonderful enough to make you want to be part of us. They will be very disappointed in me for losing you.

      The guilt had just about killed her. She still thought about it sometimes. Somewhere out there, a little old lady with a Bundt pan and a girl with crayons thought she had rejected them personally. She wasn’t going to add Gerard-Pierre’s probably adorable nieces to her list.

      “It’s

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