"Okay, kids. Your dad told you the storm story, right?"
The two of you nod at me from the couch, half-bored, half-curious. Your dad has just left the room with some line about refilling the wine. Classic Irish exit from his own narrative.
"He said it rained, he ran, he kissed Aunt Robin," you say. "Then Aunt Lily went to San Francisco."
I snort.
"Yeah," I say. "That's the Ted cut. Sweet. Dramatic. Leaves out all the parts where everyone fell apart slowly instead of all at once."
Bryce elbows me lightly.
"Be nice," she says. "He did get most of the verbs right."
"Fine," I say. "He got the verbs. I'm here for the adverbs."
You groan. Bryce smiles.
"Point is," I continue, "the morning after that big storm? It wasn't just 'Ted and Robin finally together.' It was also 'Lily and Marshall about to try long-distance' and 'me realizing I'd accidentally become the emotional support raccoon of this entire group.'"
Bryce laughs.
"Raccoon's accurate," she says. "Cute, chaotic, always digging in people's trash."
I raise a hand. "Objection. I am a wise forest spirit."
"You were a 24-year-old billionaire with a hoodie addiction," she counters.
"Details," I mutter. "Anyway. Season two starts here: hangovers, damp shoes, and everyone pretending this is going to be easy."
I lean back, and the room blurs.
"Picture this," I say. "It's the day after the storm…"
---
MacLaren's – Late Morning, Post-Storm
The bar looked like a church the day after Christmas:
Dim light.
Sticky floors.
The faint smell of spilled joy and bad decisions.
Carl was half-heartedly wiping down the bar like it had personally offended him. The place was mostly empty—just one guy in a suit nursing a beer and reading the sports section like his life depended on it.
I slid into our booth with a groan and dropped my head against the back of the seat.
"Water," I called toward the bar. "And if you have an IV bag back there, I'll take that too."
"You did it to yourself, Mosby," Carl grunted.
"I did it to my liver," I corrected. "My brain is an innocent bystander."
Bryce slid in next to me, looking unfairly awake. Slightly messy hair, yes, but eyes bright, skin barely showing any aftermath of last night's chaos.
"I hate you," I told her.
She smiled. "You told Barney you could 'outdrink fate.' I told you that was a terrible sentence," she said. "You did this to yourself."
"Why are you so functional?" I demanded.
"Electrolytes," she said. "And not dancing on rooftop furniture at three in the morning yelling, 'Rain you coward!'"
I rubbed my face.
"In my defense," I muttered, "the coward rained."
Carl dropped two waters in front of us, plus coffee for Bryce and something that might have been pity in my direction.
"Your brother called," Carl added. "Said if you get here first, order him something greasy and life-saving."
"Ah," I said. "The Ted Special."
"Also," Carl added, "Marshall called. He sounded… not great."
I winced.
Right. Storm. Kiss. Airport.
San Francisco.
"How many days until Lily leaves?" I asked Bryce quietly.
"Five," she said. "Flights booked. Suitcase half-packed. Panic seventy percent."
I nodded.
"Good," I said. "Plenty of time for me to watch everyone cope badly."
She bumped her shoulder against mine.
"You'll help," she said.
"Define help," I replied.
"Not just making jokes until people forget they're sad," she said.
"Oh," I said. "So you're asking for a personality transplant. Got it."
The doors opened.
Ted shuffled in like a man who'd fought God and lost.
His clothes were dry, hair still damp from a shower, but there was a look on his face I recognized: the dazed, terrified expression of someone whose dreams had actually come true and now had no idea what to do with them.
Robin walked beside him.
She looked… different.
Not in any big way. No glamorous transformation, no magical slow-motion filter. Just softer around the edges. Guard lowered a notch.
They reached the booth.
Bryce smiled up at them. "Morning, newly weather-blessed," she said.
Ted slid in across from me, Robin next to him. They both grabbed their waters like they'd been wandering a desert.
"Everything hurts," Ted muttered.
"Good," I said. "Means you're alive. And so are your questionable choices."
Robin squinted at me. "You look worse than we do," she said.
"Because I had to watch your rom-com finale and talk Marshall down from three separate emotional cliffs," I replied. "Hangovers are cumulative."
Ted glanced at Robin, then at us.
"So," he said, trying and failing to sound casual, "this is… weird, right?"
"Yes," I said immediately.
Bryce elbowed me.
"Let him finish," she murmured.
Ted took a breath.
"Last night," he said, "it rained. The airport got screwed up. Robin came home. We talked. We… decided to give this a real shot."
He reached for her hand under the table.
I saw the movement. Saw Robin let his fingers lace with hers.
There it was.
No maybes. No on-and-off. No "if only the timing were different."
"The universe caved," I said. "Tragic precedent."
Robin rolled her eyes, but her mouth twitched.
"For the record," she said, "it wasn't just the storm. Ted actually said things that weren't insane for once."
Ted perked up. "You thought that speech was good?" he asked.
"I thought it was honest," she said. "And terrifying. But… yeah. Good."
He looked like he might float off the bench.
I sipped my water.
"So what are we calling this?" I asked. "Because I need to know what label to make fun of behind your backs."
"Calling what?" Robin asked.
"This," I said, gesturing between them. "You two. Are we at boyfriend/girlfriend? Dating exclusively? Situationship with weather benefits?"
"Boyfriend and girlfriend," Ted blurted, then winced, like the words had jumped out faster than he wanted.
Robin hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Yeah," she said. "Boyfriend and girlfriend."
She glanced at me, defensive.
"You got a problem with that?" she asked.
"Nope," I said. "Just needed it on the record. For the transcripts."
I tapped my temple. "Future-me thanks you."
Bryce leaned forward. "So what's the plan?" she asked. "First official date 2.0? Or going straight into comfortable couple bickering?"
Ted groaned.
"I have to go to work," he said. "And then I have a deadline on a mock-up. And Robin has a live shot tonight. We're adults. We schedule things now."
Robin looked as if the word "schedule" physically pained her.
"Tonight I'm covering some city council thing," she said. "Tomorrow there's a fire safety bit. Sandy's on a rampage."
Ted nodded, a little too quickly.
"Right," he said. "Busy. We'll… figure it out."
I watched Robin's face.
There was a flicker there—guilt, maybe. Or relief.
Or both.
"Hey," I said. "Relax. It's not like the universe's free trial ends in fourteen days. You don't have to use up all the couple coupons immediately."
Ted frowned. "You know, sometimes, you could just say 'I'm happy for you,'" he said.
"I am happy for you," I said. "Deeply, profoundly. Also, I have a front-row seat to you trying to be chill and failing spectacularly. So. Day one: how's that 'no pressure' thing going?"
He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again.
"Okay, fair," he admitted.
Robin's phone buzzed. She glanced at it, then sighed.
"Sandy," she said. "I have to go pretend to care about a guy opening a second hot dog cart."
She slid out of the booth.
Ted stood too.
"Walk you out?" he asked.
She smiled.
"Yeah," she said. "Boyfriend."
They both winced at the same time.
"Okay, that sounded weird," she said.
"Really weird," he agreed.
They left, talking in hushed, awkward voices.
I watched them go.
Bryce watched me.
"You're doing the thing," she said softly.
"What thing?" I asked.
"Counting," she said. "You're counting how long this lasts, how much it changes, how much you have to hold everyone together when it cracks."
I stared at my water.
"Storms don't fix structural problems," I said. "They just show you where the leaks already were."
She rested her head briefly on my shoulder.
"Hey," she murmured. "You don't have to be the bar's structural engineer. You're allowed to just be happy for them."
"I am happy for them," I repeated.
Then I looked at the door again.
"And I'm… nervous," I admitted. "For them. For Lily and Marshall."
"Speaking of…" Bryce nodded toward the entrance.
The door opened.
Marshall walked in like a man who'd forgotten what gravity was supposed to do.
He was in his suit, tie askew, hair less "adorable fluff" and more "electrocuted moose." His eyes darted around until they landed on us.
"Hey, buddy," I called. "Come join the depression table."
He shuffled over and collapsed into the seat Ted had just vacated.
"Hey, Nox," he said hollowly. "Hi, Bryce."
She slid a menu toward him. "You need eggs, carbs, and cheese," she said. "In that order."
He blinked at it like he'd never seen words before.
"Lily called from San Francisco this morning," he blurted.
My stomach tightened.
"She landed already?" I asked.
He shook his head quickly. "No, no—she's still here. Five days. But she wanted to check in with the school, confirm her housing, that kind of stuff."
He swallowed.
"They're… really excited about her," he said. "The program director said her portfolio is 'dangerous in the best way.'"
He smiled for half a second.
Then it crumpled.
"And I am," he added, "so, so proud of her I might throw up."
There it was.
The look I'd seen in the mirror once or twice: trying to hold pride and fear in the same clumsy hands.
"Proud and terrified aren't mutually exclusive," I said. "They're more like roommates."
Marshall stared at the table.
"I love her," he said. "I want this for her. I told her that. I meant it. But every time I picture her painting in some cool studio with people who get her… I picture myself at my desk, highlighting cases, waiting for her to call."
He rubbed his face.
"What if she realizes I'm just… this?" he said. "A guy with a tie and a Minnesota accent and a suspicious mole on his left shoulder?"
Bryce reached across and took his hand.
"Marshall," she said, "she already knows exactly what you are. That's why she said yes when you asked her to marry you. That's why she's calling you first."
He sniffed.
"My mom keeps saying, 'If she really loved you, she wouldn't leave,'" he muttered.
I frowned.
"Your mom is projecting," I said. "Ignore her. Respectfully."
"Very respectfully," Bryce added, patting his hand. "She terrifies me."
Marshall huffed out a laugh.
"I keep thinking about that bus," he said. "About how, in another timeline, she left without saying anything, and I found out from a note."
He glanced up at me.
"This was better," he said. "So much better. But it still… hurts."
"Honesty doesn't stop pain," I said. "It just stops confusion. There's a difference."
He nodded slowly.
"Was I supposed to tell her not to go?" he asked, voice very small. "Am I a bad fiancé for letting her leave?"
"No," Bryce said at once.
I shook my head.
"You're a good fiancé for not clipping her wings," I said. "If you'd said, 'It's me or San Francisco,' she might have chosen you. And then resented you forever."
He flinched.
"I don't want that," he whispered.
"Exactly," I said. "You chose the scary path. The one where she might come back changed. The one where you might have to grow too. That's the harder choice. That's love that's not scared of the truth."
His eyes got shiny.
He swallowed hard.
"I'm not good at… this," he admitted. "At being okay when she's not right there."
"Then you'll get good at it," I said. "You're Marshall Eriksen. You can memorize all the state capitals. You can figure out long-distance feelings."
He laughed weakly.
"I already yelled at a plant this morning," he confessed. "Told it I was fine when I'm not."
Bryce smiled. "That seems healthy," she said. "Maybe don't tell Lily that part."
The door opened again.
Lily walked in.
She wore a green sundress, hair in a loose braid, eyes bright and tired all at once. There was a folder tucked under her arm and a travel-sized bottle of shampoo poking out of her bag, like she'd already half-left.
Her face lit up when she saw us.
"Hey!" she said, hurrying over. "Everyone's here already?"
"Everyone who isn't working or avoiding their feelings, yes," I said.
She slid into the booth beside Marshall, pressed herself against his side like she was trying to soak up as much contact as possible before the universe charged a fee.
"Sorry I'm late," she said. "I was on the phone with the program director. They want me to bring some of my older work to show the class. And they found me a place near the school—tiny, but cute."
Marshall's arm tightened around her shoulders.
"That's great, Lil," he said. "Really great."
She glanced at his face.
Then at Bryce.
Then at me.
"Oh no," she said slowly. "How long has he been spiraling?"
"Not long," Bryce lied.
"Since he woke up," I corrected.
Lily sighed and touched Marshall's cheek gently.
"Honey," she said, "we talked about this."
"I know," he said. "I know, I swear. I'm not going to… ask you not to go. I'm not going to guilt-trip you. I'm just… going to miss you so much I might turn into goo."
Her eyes softened.
"I'm going to miss you too," she said.
"You promise this isn't you leaving me?" he asked quietly.
She took his hand and put it over her heart.
"This is me coming back better," she said. "For me. For you. For us."
He exhaled shakily.
"Okay," he said. "Okay. I can… I can hold onto that."
They sat there for a minute, foreheads touching.
Bryce looked away, giving them privacy.
I did too.
Because sometimes the bravest thing you can do is let people have their mushy moment without commentary.
After a beat, Lily sat up straighter.
"Okay," she said briskly. "Housekeeping. I leave Sunday. That gives us five days. Tonight we pack the first suitcase. Tomorrow we do a date night. Friday I go say goodbye to the kids at school. Saturday we have one last big group thing. Sunday we cry in an airport."
Marshall winced.
"Do we have to schedule the crying?" he asked.
"Yes," she said firmly. "Otherwise we'll do it in random grocery aisles, and that's not efficient."
She looked over at me.
"And you," she said, pointing. "You are not allowed to disappear into work and pretend this isn't happening. You show up for Saturday."
I put a hand on my chest.
"I am deeply wounded you think I'd duck out on a group farewell," I said.
"You once flew to Japan instead of coming to a birthday party," she replied.
"In my defense, it was a factory fire," I said. "I had to be there."
"It was a delayed shipment," she shot back. "You watched robots move boxes for an hour."
"Which was fascinating," I protested.
Bryce squeezed my knee under the table.
"He'll be there," she told her. "We'll both be there."
Lily's expression softened.
"Thanks," she said. "I'm really glad you're around more, Bryce. It's good to have another girl in the mix who isn't grading papers or covering ferret stories on live TV."
"Hey," Bryce said. "Ferrets are valid news if they're cute enough."
Marshall frowned.
"Where are Ted and Robin?" he asked suddenly. "Shouldn't they be here for the debrief?"
"They stopped by earlier," I said. "They're at the 'we're boyfriend and girlfriend now and that word feels weird' stage."
Lily's eyes widened.
"Oh my God," she breathed. "It finally happened."
Marshall smiled, genuinely.
"That's great," he said. "Right? It's… great."
"It's something," I said.
Lily caught the note in my voice.
"You're worried," she said.
I shrugged.
"I'm… aware," I said. "That your fiancé is about to do long-distance, your best friend is dating your other best friend, and Barney exists. That's a lot of moving parts."
She made a face.
"Thank you for saying 'moving parts' and not 'ticking time bombs,'" she said.
"I can say that if you want," I offered.
"No, this is good," she said quickly.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a folded envelope.
"Actually," she added, "I wanted to talk to you about something. Before I chicken out."
She slid the envelope across the table to me.
My name was written on the front in her neat, loopy teacher handwriting.
"What is this?" I asked, suddenly wary.
"Consider it… a Lily clause," she said.
I raised an eyebrow.
"Is this like a morality clause?" I asked. "If you find out I've secretly been evil this whole time, you get the company?"
"Tempting," she said. "But no."
Bryce watched, curious.
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
It was simple:
> If Nox Mosby, at any point during the next three months, notices Marshall Eriksen is actually falling apart beyond normal-long-distance levels,
he is authorized to intervene, tell Lily the truth, and force a real conversation—even if Marshall says "I'm fine."
I read it twice.
Lily chewed her lip.
"I know him," she said. "He'll try to be strong for me. He'll downplay it. He'll say he's okay even if he's drowning. I… I need someone who will tell me if he's actually not."
Marshall stared at her.
"Lily," he said softly. "You don't have to—"
"I do," she said. "Because I trust you to try. I also trust you to lie badly if you think it'll keep me from going."
She looked at me.
"I'm not asking you to spy," she said. "Just… be honest. With both of us."
I folded the paper carefully and slipped it back into the envelope.
"You know I don't need a contract to do that," I said.
"I know," she said. "But I'll be three thousand miles away, and my brain is going to tell me all kinds of stories. Having something I wrote, now, while I'm calm and sober, will help me shut the lies up."
I nodded slowly.
"Okay," I said. "Lily clause accepted. Consider me your human check-engine light."
Marshall snorted.
"Does this make me a car?" he asked.
"You've always been a Volvo," I said. "Reliable, safe, cries at commercials."
He sighed, but smiled.
Bryce looked at Lily.
"And for the record," she said, "if the check-engine light goes on and you've outgrown this car, that doesn't make you a villain."
Lily exhaled.
"I really hope I haven't," she said. "I like this car."
Marshall leaned his head on her shoulder.
"I have great mileage," he murmured.
She laughed, watery.
"Yeah," she said. "You do."
I watched them.
Two people holding onto each other while one of them stepped toward something that might change everything.
From the outside, it looked romantic.
From where I sat?
It looked like courage.
The kind that doesn't come with storms and dramatic music.
Just a plane ticket, a packed bag, and five days left.
Five days for everyone to pretend this was going to be simple.
---
"Wait," you interrupt me. "So Aunt Lily asked you to snitch if Uncle Marshall wasn't okay?"
"She asked me to be honest," I correct. "Snitching is when you tell on someone to get them in trouble. This was 'tell on him if he's dying inside so we can fix it before he explodes.'"
Bryce nods.
"She knew what she was asking was risky," she says. "But she also knew long-distance doesn't work if both people are constantly trying to protect each other from the truth."
You frown.
"And Ted and Robin?" you ask. "They were good? Happy?"
"For about five minutes," I say. "But that's Part B."
Bryce smiles.
"And that," she adds, "is when the year really started to get complicated."
"Okay, so we're at, like… five days before Aunt Lily leaves," you say, pulling your knees up on the couch. "Ted and Robin are together. Marshall's freaking out. You're the check-engine light."
"Accurate summary," I say. "Gold star."
"And it gets worse?" your sibling asks.
Bryce snorts. "It gets real," she says. "That's different."
I nod.
"The rest of that day," I tell you, "was everyone trying very hard to pretend they weren't scared—and failing in very specific, very Mosby ways."
---
Later That Day – Ted's Apartment
Ted's apartment looked… different.
Not visually. Same furniture, same swords on the wall, same blue French horn perched like an inside joke on the shelf.
But there was an extra toothbrush in the bathroom now.
Technically, it belonged to Robin.
Emotionally, it belonged to the concept of way too soon.
I was standing in their tiny kitchen, drinking iced tea from a stolen MacLaren's cup, watching Ted move around like someone had replaced his brain with a live squirrel.
He checked the stove twice.
Straightened a stack of mail.
Moved a magazine two inches left on the coffee table.
"Ted," I said. "She's not giving the apartment a white-glove inspection. She's coming over to hang out, not film a rental listing."
"I know," he said, adjusting a coaster for the fifth time. "I just want things to be… nice."
"Nice is not the same as sterile," I pointed out. "Right now this place has 'hostage video' vibes."
He glared at me, then winced, then sighed.
"Is it weird that I'm nervous?" he asked. "We've been… whatever we are for months. We've kissed. We've stayed over at each other's places. But this is the first night as, like… official."
"It's not weird," I said. "It's just unnecessary."
He frowned. "How is nervous unnecessary?"
"You've already done the hard part," I said. "You told her how you feel. She didn't run away. Now you just have to… not be insane."
"That's the hard part," he said.
"Fair," I said.
There was a knock.
He froze.
"Oh God," he whispered. "Okay. Okay. How do I look? Do I look like a boyfriend?"
"You look like Ted," I said. "If you start trying to look like 'a boyfriend,' you'll say something like 'Greetings, romantic partner' and she'll leave."
He made a strangled noise and went to open the door.
Robin stood there, hair still damp from a shower, bag slung over her shoulder, wearing jeans and a soft T-shirt that had seen better days.
She looked like comfort.
"Hey," she said. "Sorry I'm late. Sandy made me do a stand-up in front of a pothole for twenty minutes."
"That's… important news," Ted said.
"Apparently," she said dryly.
She stepped in, spotted me.
"Oh good," she said. "Chaperone."
"I'm here to make sure there are no high school slow-dance shenanigans with too much hand placement," I said.
She dropped her bag.
"So, what's the big plan?" she asked Ted. "Fancy dinner? Wine? PowerPoint presentation about our relationship trajectory?"
He actually flinched.
"I do have a PowerPoint template," he admitted. "But no. I was thinking… takeout, bad movie, complaining about work, maybe… talking about what this is going to look like?"
Her face did a tiny thing at that last part.
Most people wouldn't catch it.
I did.
"Talking is allowed," she said cautiously. "As long as it doesn't involve diagrams."
Ted opened his mouth; I kicked his ankle.
"Right," he said. "No diagrams. Got it."
My phone buzzed.
I glanced at the screen.
> Bryce: I have Marshall. He needs distraction. And maybe nachos.
I typed back with my thumb.
> On my way. Do not let him google 'signs your fiancée will leave you.'
I slipped my phone away.
"Well," I said. "I have to go pull your future brother-in-law out of a spiral, so I'm going to leave you two to your deeply romantic Chinese takeout."
I headed for the door, then paused.
"Hey," I added, looking at both of them. "Quick note: you don't have to figure out the rest of your lives tonight. Just… figure out whether you want to be together tomorrow."
Ted nodded, serious.
"Yeah," he said. "Tomorrow. That I can do."
Robin smirked.
"We'll see," she said.
I left them there, in that tiny apartment that was about to hold a lot of very big conversations.
---
Marshall & Lily's Apartment – The Couch Fort
Bryce had texted me an address I knew very well.
Marshall & Lily's place.
When I walked in, I found:
Two giant bowls of popcorn.
Three kinds of candy.
A stack of DVDs.
And a blanket fort over the couch.
Lily's doing, obviously.
"Hey," I said, stepping over a pile of sketchbooks.
Lily popped her head out of the fort like a meerkat.
"Nox," she said. "Good. We need a neutral third party."
"Neutral feels optimistic," I said. "But I'll try."
Marshall was under the blanket too, clutching a pillow like a life preserver.
"We're watching bad movies from when we first started dating," he said, voice muffled. "For nostalgia."
"That seems… emotionally loaded," I said.
"That's the point," Lily said. "If we can survive revisiting early-relationship Marshall's hair, we can survive anything."
Bryce sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the fort, glancing through a SF art catalog Lily had brought home.
She looked up and smiled.
"Hey," she said. "We saved you some popcorn. And the privilege of telling them when they're being idiots."
"Ah," I said. "My specialty."
I sat on the floor beside her, back against the couch, knees pulled up.
The movie playing was some terrible rom-com from the early 2000s. Too many flip phones. Too much lip gloss. Everyone making choices that should've landed them in therapy.
On screen, the main couple was having a grand airport scene.
"I hate this part," Marshall said.
"You love this part," Lily corrected.
"I hate this part today," he amended.
She reached back and squeezed his hand under the blanket.
On screen, the woman ran through a terminal, security rules clearly be damned, while dramatic music swelled.
"She could've just called him," Bryce said. "They both have phones."
"Logic has no place here," I said. "This is pure gesture economy."
After a few minutes of swelling music and whispered confessions, the credits rolled.
Marshall groaned.
"I want our goodbye to be less… that," he said.
"Same," Lily said. "I do not want to sprint through security in heels."
"So what do you want it to be?" I asked.
They both went quiet.
"It's like…" Lily said slowly. "I don't want it to feel like an ending. But I know it's not just a regular trip. Three months is… a lot."
Marshall nodded under the blanket.
"I don't want to do the 'this is no big deal' thing," he said. "It is a big deal."
"But if we make it too big," Lily said, "then every time I'm not okay, I'll feel like I'm betraying some great tragic farewell."
"That's because grand gestures are emotional debt," I said. "You're borrowing feelings from the future. Then someday you have to pay them back with interest."
Bryce glanced at me, impressed.
"That was… annoyingly wise," she said.
"I have my moments," I said.
Lily chewed her lip.
"When I get on that plane," she said, "I want to be thinking, 'I'm going to make something amazing and come back with it,' not, 'I just broke my own heart.'"
"So design it that way," Bryce said. "Make the goodbye about the goal, not the fear."
Marshall considered.
"Like… instead of 'goodbye, my love, maybe we'll survive,' it's… 'go kick ass, I'll be here when you get back'?" he asked.
"Exactly," she said.
He nodded.
"Okay," he said. "Okay. I can do that."
He hesitated.
"For the record," he added, "if three months pass and you realize you need more time, I'm going to freak out. But I'm not going to handcuff you to a radiator to keep you here."
"That's fair," Lily said. "I would prefer no radiators in our marriage."
She crawled out of the fort and squeezed in between me and Bryce on the floor, back against the couch.
"How did you two do it?" she asked Bryce. "The whole… career, travel, schedules thing."
Bryce shrugged.
"I dated a lot of people who liked the idea of me more than the reality," she said. "They wanted the actress girlfriend until it meant I couldn't go to every dinner."
"And with Nox?" Lily asked.
She smiled, soft.
"With him, I told him up front," she said. "'Sometimes I'll be gone. Sometimes you won't be my first text of the day. Sometimes you'll have an opening night and I'll be in a hotel room watching on my phone.'"
"And I said, 'Okay,'" I added. "And meant it. Mostly. I got better at meaning it over time."
"And when he got busy?" Lily asked.
"I stole his calendar from his assistant," Bryce said. "Banned him from putting meetings on certain evenings. Scheduled 'no phones, just us, or at least us and Netflix' nights. Balance doesn't happen by accident."
Marshall nodded.
"We can do that," he said. "We can… schedule us."
Lily smirked.
"Look at us," she said. "Planning. Being adults. This is disgusting."
We all laughed.
For a while, we let the next movie roll.
I watched them out of the corner of my eye:
Lily, leaning against Marshall, taking mental pictures.
Marshall, laughing a little too loudly at jokes that weren't that funny.
Bryce, soft and present, creating space for their feelings without intruding.
I could feel the clock ticking.
But for that hour, in that stupid blanket fort, they weren't "bride and groom in crisis."
They were just Lily and Marshall.
Two kids from Minnesota with mismatched socks and big hearts.
---
Night – Street Outside MacLaren's
Later that night, I left Marshall & Lily's and walked past MacLaren's on my way home.
I slowed when I saw Ted standing outside under the awning, hands jammed in his coat pockets, staring at his reflection in the window.
He spotted me and straightened.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," I replied. "You look… pensive. On a scale from one to 'I just made a huge mistake,' where are we?"
He thought about it.
"Seven," he said.
"Okay," I said. "Seven is salvageable. Talk me through it."
We started walking in the direction of our building.
"So," he said, "we did the normal couple thing. Ordered takeout. Watched a movie. Talked about our days. I made her laugh twice. There was kissing."
"All good words so far," I said.
He exhaled.
"Then I asked if she wanted to do a weekend trip sometime," he said. "You know. Like… in the future. Just us, away from the city."
"Reasonable," I said.
"She froze," he said. "Like I'd asked her to choose a retirement home."
"Ah," I said.
"She said her schedule is insane and she can't plan that far ahead," he continued. "Which is fair. Then she said, 'We'll see,' in that tone that means 'Please stop talking about this,' and changed the subject."
I nodded.
"Did you push?" I asked.
He winced.
"A little," he admitted. "I said, 'It doesn't have to be soon, just… someday.' And then I heard myself and realized I was doing the thing."
"The someday thing," I said.
"Yeah," he said. "The thing where I start making a scrapbook of a future we haven't agreed on yet. She looked at me like I'd taken out a mortgage in both our names without asking."
He kicked a crack in the sidewalk.
"I backed off," he said quickly. "I said, 'It's fine, we don't have to talk about that now.' But I could feel her… pull back. Just a little."
"First day, Ted," I said. "You're already trying to plan the sequel."
"I know," he groaned. "I know. I told myself I'd be chill. I'd live in the moment. I'd just enjoy being with her. And then the second there was silence, my brain was like, 'Quick, fill it with visions of shared mortgages and hypothetical children.'"
We walked in silence for a beat.
"You're not wrong to want those things," I said. "And she's not wrong to not want to talk about them yet."
He sighed.
"I keep thinking," he said, "if we're not working toward the same future, what's the point?"
"The point is now," I said. "You get to find out if you actually like being with her every day, not just in your head."
He shot me a look.
"That's not very romantic," he said.
"Reality rarely is," I said. "But it's more sustainable."
We passed a bodega. The smell of onions and cigarettes hit us.
"What if we're just delaying the inevitable?" he asked. "We're going to have this fight at some point. Kids or no kids, suburbs or city, all that. Are we just wasting time until then?"
I stopped walking.
So did he.
"Okay," I said. "Serious question: if you knew for sure that two years from now you and Robin would break up because of those differences… but those two years would still be good—would you still want them?"
He swallowed.
"Yeah," he said after a beat. "I think so."
"Then it's not a waste," I said. "You don't only date people you're guaranteed to marry. You date people because, at that time, in that place, there's something there worth living."
He frowned.
"But isn't that… settling?" he asked. "If I know we might not end up together forever?"
"No," I said. "It's called being honest. About odds. About your timeline. Your dad and mom worked because they grew in the same direction. That doesn't mean every relationship that doesn't end in marriage was a mistake. It just means it was… a chapter."
He thought about that.
"You think me and Robin are just a chapter?" he asked quietly.
"I think she's important," I said. "One of the big ones. The ones that change how you see everything. That doesn't automatically make her your ending."
He closed his eyes briefly.
"That sucks," he said.
"I didn't say it feels good," I replied. "But right now, you don't even know what page you're on. Stop trying to flip ahead."
He huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh.
"You're weirdly good at this," he said.
"I spend a lot of time watching you people make choices," I said. "It's like being a wildlife documentarian, but for feelings."
We started walking again.
"What about on your side?" he asked. "You and Bryce. You ever worry you're just… a chapter?"
I glanced up at the sky.
Streetlights. Faint stars.
"Every day," I said honestly. "Difference is, I spent a long time using that fear as an excuse to not write anything down at all. Now? I'm trying to actually be present in the chapter we're in."
He nodded slowly.
"You think I can do that?" he asked.
"If you stop monologuing at the future for five minutes," I said. "Yes."
We reached our building.
Ted looked up at the windows.
"Lily leaves in five days," he said quietly. "Marshall's barely holding it together. I finally get what I've wanted with Robin and I'm already terrified it won't last. Barney's… Barney. You and Bryce are weirdly competent."
He turned to me.
"Are we going to be okay?" he asked.
I thought about it.
"No," I said. "You're going to be messy. And selfish. And noble. And stupid. And brave. And sometimes you'll hurt people you love. And sometimes you'll fix it. Eventually you'll be okay. But not all at once."
He made a face.
"That's not reassuring," he said.
"It's not supposed to be," I said. "It's supposed to be true."
He took a deep breath.
"Okay," he said. "Okay. I can live with true."
We headed inside.
---
You're quiet when I stop.
Bryce watches your faces like she's tracking a scene.
"So S2E1 is basically 'everyone lying to themselves a little bit,'" you say.
"Bingo," I say. "Ted telling himself he can be chill. Robin telling herself she can do serious without thinking about later. Lily telling herself three months is 'no big deal.' Marshall telling himself he'll be okay. Me telling myself I'm just background emotional support and not actually in the middle of all of it."
"And Aunt Bryce?" your sibling asks.
Bryce smiles, small.
"I was telling myself they'd all listen to you the first time," she says. "Which was definitely the funniest lie."
I chuckle.
"Season two," I say, "is when we all stop pretending growing up doesn't hurt."
"And that's just the first episode," Bryce adds.
You both groan.
"You want to stop?" I ask. "We can pick up tomorrow."
They shake their heads in unison.
"No way," one of you says. "What happens next?"
I grin.
"Next?" I say. "Aunt Lily tries to do long-distance without losing her mind, your Uncle Marshall discovers just how loud an empty apartment is, and your dad realizes being Robin's boyfriend isn't the same as being her future."
Bryce bumps my shoulder.
"And," she says, "I get a lot more screen time."
"Right," I say.