Then

"There's nothing between us, Josh! God, that is so twisted! Are you hearing yourself?"

I'm furious. We just got home after our first fancy dinner date since Annaleigh was born, and instead of having a nice time, Josh had to start picking at Andy.

"Has he texted you today?" Josh said as soon as the breadsticks arrived.

"Yes, this morning," I said. "Hey, what do you think about sharing some mozzarella sticks? Mamacita's is supposed to be famous for them."

He let it go for a while. Then we got into the car, and it was pick pick pick the whole way home. While I drove, Josh helped himself to my phone, scrolling through my messages with Andy and making sarcastic comments.

"Is he always this whiny?

"God, this guy is pathetic.

"Doesn't he have any other friends?"

I didn't respond, but by the time we got home, my jaw felt hard enough to crack.

I'm convinced it's not about Andy. That Josh needs to pick at something, find an outlet for the simmering rage that's been stoked by the recent flood of hate mail, the awful graffiti that took us two days to paint over, his unfruitful days at Starbucks applying for jobs, the recent fifty-grand hospice bill.

"He's in love with you," says Josh bluntly, hanging up his jacket in the front entry coat closet. "I saw it when I first met him on the show."

We literally walked in the door two minutes ago, paid Eden, and said good-night. Now I'm walking toward the kitchen, because I just remembered I need to run the dishwasher before we crash.

"Josh, that is a crazy thing to say. Andy...he's a scientist! He doesn't think of me that way. And that five-minute conversation when you two met? It was over a year ago! Can we please stop talking about Andy?"

I want to talk about the land we might put an offer on. The chickens I want to raise. My daydream of Annaleigh collecting the eggs every morning.

"I've seen how he looks at you. It's fucking possessive."

"Okay, can we dial it back, baby? I've only seen Andy twice since Annaleigh was born."

Once, right before Christmas, Andy drove down to Eauverte to bring me an extravagant wicker gift basket full of cute outfits, baby bath products, and plush toys. The second time, I left Annaleigh with Eden and drove up to Bloomington. It felt amazing to leave town, if just for the morning. Andy took me out to a nice lunch and I ended up talking the entire time. I felt a little embarrassed that I didn't ask more about him, but he was so interested and so caring that I couldn't help myself.

Josh has followed me to the kitchen, where I'm leaning over the dishwasher, fitting the soap pellet into the plastic tray.

"You know what I hate?" he growls. "That he shaped you. Do you ever think about that? Every part of you I've touched, he touched first, in his lab, or wherever they put you together." Josh shudders. "I hate thinking about that. His fucking paws all over you."

"Is that it?" I breathe angrily as I straighten up. "Some alpha male thing where you have to be the first and only? Because I'm pretty sure you've had sex with other women, Josh. I'm not the first person to touch you either!" I draw in another sharp breath. "Or do you hate Andy because he reminds you that I'm not human? Is that it? You can only love me if you forget I'm a Synth?"

"You don't get it," he says, emphasizing each word with a crash of his palm against the countertop.

Oh, I hate it when he says that. Like I'm incapable of understanding. Like I'm not a complete enough person for him. Like he's on fucking Rita's side.

"What don't I get, Josh? What is it?" Tears fill my eyes, hot, angry. "Andy and I have an innocent friendship. Why are you so eager to piss all over it? What about you and Cam, huh? Is that an innocent friendship?"

Instantly I regret playing tit for tat. Because I honestly do believe what he and Cam have is innocent. Even though they did sleep together in the Fantasy Suite. Even though Josh lied about that. I got the truth from Cam, and I understood Josh needed to save his own dignity. He needed to believe he was the guy who didn't sleep with two women, back-to-back. The question is, why was I so eager to allow him to lie? What happened to my demand for honesty? When did we start pretending so much with each other? Or...is that all we've ever done?

"Okay, this is some expert gaslighting, Julia," says Josh in that superior, snappish tone I despise. "Are you sleeping with Andy or not?"

"No, I am not sleeping with Andy! He—I—It's not like that!"

Josh grabs my phone off the counter.

"What are you doing?"

"Litmus test. I'm deleting Andy's fucking number. If there's nothing between you, you won't care."

"Give that back!" I grab for the phone, but Josh steps out of reach.

I lunge. There's a ridiculous struggle as I grab Josh's wrist and tug and he tugs back, and I'm saying give it back as he says get off me and then something is exploding in my face and I'm reeling back, holding my nose, which is gushing blood.

Time slows to a halt, like my shock has created a bubble, where I float in some wordless agony so profound it nearly feels like peace. Josh is cramming paper towels into my hands, but I'm far away, deep in the universe of my own head.

How did we get here?

What signs did I miss? Was it my fault I missed them?

I feel myself sinking, but I can't let myself drown. I have to fix this. I have a baby to think of.

Look at the ceiling. Pinch the bridge of your nose, Josh is instructing, but it sounds like his voice is coming from very, very far away.

Two times is not ten times, I think. It sounds so...logical. When I put it like that.

Two times can still be a mistake, never to be made again.

That sounds real. Like something I can believe.

As Josh cries and I cry and we play out the horrible aftermath of tonight, I cling to this.