"Let me guess," you say. "Next is the brunch where the grandparents show up and everything gets awkward."
"Incorrect," I say. "Next is the brunch where everything gets accurate."
Bryce smirks.
"Your grandparents love both their boys," she says. "They just didn't realize those boys grew into totally different species."
You frown.
"So this is, what, Season 2 Episode 3?" your sibling asks.
"Yup," I say. "S2E3: Brunch with the Mosbys. Starring: your dad, me, two Mosby parents, one Robin, one Bryce, and a crippling amount of French toast."
---
Two Sons and a Reservation
2030s – Couch, Present Day (Frame)
"Before this brunch," I tell you, "your grandparents mostly knew me as 'the other one.'"
"Mom says you were the chaos cousin she almost married," you say.
I blink.
Bryce chokes on nothing.
"Okay," I say carefully. "We are circling back to whatever that sentence was. But later. Point is: to Mom and Dad Mosby at the time, Ted was the blueprint son. I was… the glitch."
"Successful glitch," Bryce adds. "Just not the kind of success they had pictured when they were ironing his graduation robe."
I nod.
"So when your dad invited us all to brunch to 'meet Robin properly and catch up as a family,'" I say, "what he really did was schedule a performance review for his entire life."
You both wince.
"Yeah," one of you mutters. "That sounds like Dad."
---
Sunday Morning – West 79th Street
It was one of those sharp New York Sundays that looks warm through a window and then punches you with wind the second you walk outside.
I shoved my hands deeper into my coat pockets and glanced at the restaurant sign: La Maison de Quelque Chose.
"Of course," Bryce said, reading it aloud. "Of course they picked the one place that sounds like a perfume commercial."
"Mom loves 'European flair,'" I said. "Dad loves places that refill coffee without being asked. This is their compromise."
Bryce adjusted her scarf.
"Scale of one to ten," she asked, "how nervous are you?"
"For me?" I said. "Four."
"For Ted?" she clarified.
"Eleven, minimum," I said.
As if summoned by my mockery, Ted appeared at the corner with Robin.
He wore his Good Son outfit: collared shirt, sweater, too much hope in his eyes.
Robin looked effortlessly sharp in a blazer and jeans, hair perfect in that "I woke up like this after three coffees and no sleep" way.
"Okay," Ted said without preamble, "ground rules."
Bryce and I exchanged a look.
"Of course there are ground rules," I said. "Continue."
He ticked them off on his fingers.
"One," he said, "nobody mentions the word 'moving' in front of Robin. Mom will ask. We deflect. We redirect. We point at something shiny."
Robin squinted at him. "I'm right here," she said.
"Two," he forged on, "we do not talk about my exes. At all. No Karen, no Victoria, no Natalie, no 'slutty pumpkin—'"
"Wow," Robin said. "That's a list."
"Three," he said, "Nox does not bring up Nyx Co's revenue or any story that starts with 'so this one time in Tokyo…'"
I clutched my chest.
"You wound me," I said. "I have other conversation topics."
"Name three," he challenged.
"Sharks, quantum mechanics, Barney's emotional damage," I replied instantly.
"Okay, two that won't horrify my parents," he said.
Bryce patted his arm.
"Relax," she said. "We'll be charming. Your parents already like me. I have freckles and make good eye contact. It disarms them."
Robin raised a hand.
"Do they like Canadians?" she asked.
"They're neutral," I said. "Like Switzerland, but with more casseroles."
Ted took a deep breath.
"Right," he said. "Let's… do this."
---
Inside – Table for Six, Expectations for Eight
We found them at a corner table.
Mom Mosby, in a floral blouse and pearls, already halfway through a story with her hands.
Dad Mosby, in a tan sport coat, menu held like a shield.
"Hi, sweetheart!" Mom said, popping up to kiss Ted's face in a flurry of affection and perfume.
"Hey, champ," Dad said, standing to shake his hand like they were closing a deal.
Then they saw us.
"Nox," Mom said, smile brightening. "You came."
"I live in the same city," I said, hugging her. "It seemed rude not to."
"Nonsense," she said. "You're such a busy man. The magazines say you barely sleep."
"That's just good PR," I said. "I sleep. I just do it very fast."
Dad clapped me on the shoulder.
"How's the… company?" he asked, sounding like he was afraid of mispronouncing the word "tech."
"Still exists," I said. "Nobody's arrested me yet."
"That's wonderful," he said, as if the absence of prison time was the gold standard.
Ted cleared his throat.
"Mom, Dad," he said, a little too loudly. "This is Robin. My… girlfriend."
There it was. The label.
Robin extended a hand.
"Hi," she said. "Nice to finally meet you. I've heard a lot."
"Only good things," Ted said quickly.
Robin gave him a look that said she understood the lie and accepted it as a gift.
Mom clasped Robin's hand in both of hers.
"Oh, it's so nice to meet you," she said. "You're the reporter! We watch you sometimes—don't we, dear?"
Dad nodded.
"You did a story on the raccoon in the deli," he said. "You made it seem very dignified."
Robin blinked.
"Thank you?" she said.
"And this," Ted continued, "is Bryce. Nox's… girlfriend."
He hesitated on the same word, but less like it might explode and more like it meant something dangerous.
Bryce smiled.
"Hi," she said. "Thanks for letting me crash the family brunch."
"Oh, we're delighted," Mom said. "The more the merrier."
We all sat.
Ted and Robin on one side, me and Bryce in the middle, Mom and Dad bookending the chaos.
Menus were distributed. Specials recited. Coffee poured.
I watched the table settle.
Watched two worlds line up like transparencies:
The Mosby parents' idea of their boys.
The actual men sitting in front of them.
"So," Mom said, once everyone had ordered. "How are my boys?"
I opened my mouth.
She looked directly at Ted.
"As in, how is my future architecture professor slash family man?" she clarified cheerfully.
Ted choked on his water.
"Mom," he said. "I'm not—"
"We're just happy you're doing what you love," Dad cut in. "Designing buildings. Dating a nice girl. Living in the city. It's all very… cosmopolitan."
He said "cosmopolitan" like it was also slightly dangerous.
Robin took a sip of coffee to hide her smile.
"We're doing good," Ted said, recovering. "Work's… good. Life's… good."
"Good," Mom said, satisfied. "And you, Nox?"
She pivoted to me.
"I read an article saying your company is 'disrupting four industries at once,'" she said. "Should I be concerned?"
"Only if you own stock in companies that overcharge for laptops," I said. "In that case, yes, I'm your nemesis."
Dad chuckled.
"That phone you sent us—Nyx One, was it?" he said. "It's very… advanced. I keep worrying I'll accidentally buy something just by touching it."
"That's the idea," I said.
He blinked.
I sighed.
"Kidding," I added. "Mostly."
Mom leaned in.
"Do you have time to… date?" she asked Bryce gently, like she was asking if I had time to eat food.
Bryce smiled, easy.
"I make time for what matters," she said. "And he's… on the list."
Mom softened visibly.
I could see it—the way Bryce slipped neatly into a box in her head labeled "safe, kind, possibly daughter-in-law material one day."
I knew that box.
Mom had been trying to put someone—anyone—into it since Ted was twenty-two.
"So, Robin," Dad said then, turning his focus with the weight of paternal curiosity. "You're from… Canada?"
"Yes, sir," Robin said. "Grew up in Vancouver."
"Oh, we love Canadians," Mom cooed. "So polite. So outdoorsy."
Robin smiled.
"Some of us," she said. "I'm more of an indoor-with-whiskey type."
Mom's smile faltered just a millimeter.
"And you're a reporter," she said. "Live television! Isn't that stressful?"
"Constantly," Robin said. "But I love it. The chaos, the deadlines, the feeling when you nail a story live—it's… addictive."
Mom's eyes flicked briefly—just briefly—to Ted.
Addictive. Chaos. Live TV.
You could see the math she was doing:
Does this woman have room for grandkids between news hits and hurricanes?
Ted saw it too.
He sat up straighter.
"Robin's amazing at her job," he said quickly. "She's so passionate. And brave. And—"
"And I'm not planning to leave it anytime soon," Robin added, because Robin couldn't not tell the truth when challenged.
There was a small, quiet crash as Mom's internal fantasy of "someday suburban Mosbys" lost a tile.
"Of course, dear," Mom said. "It's wonderful to have a career you enjoy. I always told Ted and Nox to follow their dreams."
She patted Ted's hand.
"And look at you," she said. "Doing architecture. Just like you always wanted."
Ted swallowed.
"We're… getting there," he said. "A little slower than planned, but—"
"He's being modest," I cut in. "He did a design consult for Nyx Co. Nailed it. The flagship store is going to look insane."
Dad raised his eyebrows.
"Really?" he asked. "They didn't mention that in the article."
"They weren't interviewing him," I said. "They were interviewing me. That's their mistake. I don't build pretty things. I just pay for them."
Pride flickered behind Dad's eyes.
For me.
For Ted.
Maybe both.
---
Expectations on Toast
Our food arrived.
French toast mountains. Eggs. Bacon. Fruit for people pretending to be healthy.
Over plates, the conversation split.
Mom and Bryce got into a detailed discussion about movies that made them cry.
Dad asked Robin about Canadian healthcare versus American.
Ted watched all of it like a tightrope walker watches the ground.
At one point, mom turned to me.
"You know," she said, "when you boys were young, I used to think Ted would be the wild one and you'd be the quiet one."
I nearly spit out my coffee.
"Excuse me?" I said.
She laughed.
"Ted was always the one with big ideas," she said. "'I'm going to move to New York,' 'I'm going to marry a beautiful girl and have kids and live in a house with a porch.' And you…" she smiled. "You always sat in the corner and watched everything. I thought you'd be a writer, or a teacher. Something… still."
"I am still," I said. "On the inside. Just with better Wi-Fi."
Dad chuckled.
"We knew you were both going to do something interesting," he said. "We just didn't picture…" he gestured broadly, encompassing skyscrapers, tech, the concept of Bryce Dallas Howard, "…all this."
Robin tilted her head.
"And now?" she asked. "How do you feel about what they became?"
Mom looked at Ted.
Then at me.
Then at the table between us.
"Oh, we're proud," she said. "Of both of them. It's just… sometimes it feels like their lives are moving so fast, we're worried we'll blink and miss the important parts."
Ted's jaw tightened.
"What do you mean?" he asked carefully.
Dad cleared his throat.
"Your mother just means…" he began, then bailed out. "Well. You know. We're from a different time."
Mom sighed.
"We thought," she said slowly, "that by now you boys would be… more settled. Houses. Maybe a grandkid or two."
There it was.
The G word.
I felt Ted flinch from across the table.
"I'm… working on it," he said.
Robin's fork paused midway to her mouth.
Mom rushed to soften it.
"Not that there's a timeline," she said quickly. "We don't want to pressure you. We just… we know how much you've always wanted that, Teddy. A family. And with a job like Robin's…"
She trailed off, meaning obvious.
Robin put her fork down.
"I get it," she said calmly. "I'm… not exactly the picture of 'settled,' am I?"
"You're very accomplished," Mom said. "Just… busy."
"I like busy," Robin said. "I like my job. I like my life."
Her gaze flicked to Ted.
"And I like your son," she added. "A lot. But my career isn't a phase I'm waiting to grow out of. It's… part of me."
Dad nodded.
"That's respectable," he said.
Respectable. Not ideal.
Ted stared at his plate.
I could see the storm building behind his eyes: half defending Robin, half wanting the picture his parents kept painting.
"So," Bryce said suddenly, cutting through the tension like a well-placed line edit, "tell us about when they were kids."
Mom brightened.
"Oh, they were adorable," she said. "Ted was always playing house with the neighbor girl, and Nox was always taking apart the toaster to see how it worked."
"It did not work afterward," Dad pointed out.
"I was experimenting," I said. "With electricity. And breakfast."
Robin smiled, relieved at the shift.
"So you always wanted the white picket fence," she said to Ted. "Even as a kid."
He shrugged, embarrassed.
"Yeah," he said. "I always liked the idea of… home. Porch. Kids. The works."
She looked at him like she was memorizing that.
Like she was filing it away under Things We Have to Talk About Someday.
And that?
Was the problem.
Someday.
The word hung over the table like bad lighting.
---
2030s – Back on the Couch
"So they were basically telling him, 'Tick tock, where are our grandkids?'" you say.
"More or less," I say. "Very lovingly. With extra syrup."
Bryce nods.
"And you have to remember," she adds, "for your grandparents, stability meant one thing: job, house, marriage, kids. Your dad wanted that. Nox… wanted something else. Something he didn't have words for yet."
"Like what?" your sibling asks.
I shrug.
"At the time?" I say. "Freedom. Building something my way. Not being trapped. Later… I started wanting a version of 'home' that didn't look like theirs. Or your dad's. Took me a while to admit that."
You think on that.
"And Robin?" you ask. "Did she feel… judged?"
"A little," Bryce says. "But more… measured."
I nod.
"She knew she wasn't the woman Mom had pictured on that porch," I say. "And Ted knew it too. That's why brunch mattered. It wasn't just about 'Do they like Robin?' It was: 'Can my parents' version of my future and my actual girlfriend coexist?'"
"And?" you ask.
"And that," I say, "is what Part B starts to answer."
Bryce stretches, yawning.
"A.k.a. the part where Nox gets cornered by Dad about Nyx Co, Mom tries to gently interrogate me about marriage, and your father panics in a bathroom," she says.
You both groan.
"So… classic Mosby," one of you says.
I grin.
"Exactly," I reply. "Now we get to watch it crack under fluorescent brunch lighting."
"Okay," you say, squinting, "so brunch was vibes and subtext. When does somebody actually melt down?"
"Bathroom," I say immediately.
Bryce nods, solemn. "It's always the bathroom."
You both look confused.
"Oh, you sweet summer children," I say. "If a Mosby is going to panic, they will do it: one, in a bathroom mirror, or two, outside in the rain. Those are the rules."
Back at the Table – After the Pancakes
Brunch plates had been mostly cleared. The table was a battlefield of syrup stains, coffee rings, and half-finished conversations.
Mom was in full story-mode.
"…and then Teddy insisted on building a pillow fort in the hallway," she was saying. "It blocked the bathroom for two days."
Robin grinned.
"That tracks," she said. "He loves a good 'architectural gesture.'"
Ted blushed.
"I was eight," he muttered.
"You were sixteen," I corrected.
Bryce covered a snort with her napkin.
Dad smiled, but he was doing that thing with his jaw—the little clench that meant he was thinking too hard and trying not to say it.
He turned to me.
"So, Nox," he said. "What's next for you? I read something about… expansion?"
I shrugged.
"Global rollout," I said. "More stores, more licenses, more screaming tech journalists asking if I'm 'changing the world' or 'destroying it slowly.'"
He chuckled, but his eyes were serious.
"That's a lot of responsibility," he said. "A lot of… pressure."
"Occupational hazard," I said. "I signed up for it."
"And you're… happy with that?" he asked. "All the time on planes, decisions, staff, the… everything?"
Bryce glanced at me, sensing something under the question.
"I'm… good at it," I said. "Most days that's close enough."
Dad nodded slowly.
"When I was your age," he said, "I had a wife, a mortgage, and two boys. It was a different kind of pressure. More… local. Sometimes I wonder if we pushed you boys too hard to 'do more' and 'be more' and didn't leave enough room for just… being."
Mom blinked at him.
"Al," she said gently, "you were the one who told them to apply to colleges out of state."
"I know," he said. "I just… sometimes I miss when their biggest problem was the school play."
I studied his face.
This wasn't judgment.
This was grief.
Not for us.
For the version of us he thought he'd get.
"You didn't break us by wanting us to do well," I said. "We made our own choices."
He sighed.
"I'm proud of you," he said. "Both of you. I just worry you're so busy building lives you'll forget to live them."
"Trust me," Bryce said softly, "this one doesn't forget."
She bumped my arm.
"And Ted?" Dad added, turning. "You're still planning to—"
"Bathroom," Ted blurted, standing up so fast his chair scraped. "I just… bathroom. Needed. Yes."
He practically fled.
Robin watched him go, eyebrows raised.
Mom looked vaguely wounded. Dad looked like he wanted to follow.
"I'll check on him," I said, already sliding out of the booth.
"Thank you, honey," Mom said. "Make sure he's okay. And that the food didn't upset his stomach."
"It's not his stomach I'm worried about," I muttered.
---
Bathroom – Mirror Neurons Firing
The restaurant bathroom was aggressively neutral. Beige tiles. Too-bright lights. A framed print of a generic cityscape, like the interior designer gave up halfway through.
Ted stood at the sink, hands braced on the counter, staring at his reflection like maybe it would blink first.
"You look like a man auditioning for an anxiety commercial," I said.
He jumped.
"God, knock," he hissed.
"The door was unlocked," I said. "Also, this is a public bathroom, not your emotional bunker."
He groaned and turned the tap on and off for no reason.
"I'm blowing this, aren't I?" he asked. "I'm totally blowing this."
I leaned against the wall.
"Define 'this,'" I said.
"Everything," he said. "Robin. My parents. This whole… balance. They want one thing, she wants another, I want both and neither and—"
He broke off, tugging at his hair.
"Mom's already doing the thing," he said. "'Grandkids' in capital letters. Porch fantasies. And Robin's sitting there like, 'I love chaos and my job and not planning anything ever.'"
He met my eyes in the mirror.
"What if they're right?" he asked. "What if this is a waste of time because she's never going to want the porch, and I'm never going to stop wanting it?"
My first impulse was to make a joke.
Instead, I put my hands in my pockets and thought about it.
"It's not a waste if you love her now," I said. "Even if it doesn't end in a porch. Not everything has to be forever to be real."
He stared at me.
"You always say that," he said. "That 'chapters matter even if they're not the ending' thing. What if I don't want a chapter? What if I want the book?"
I considered him.
"Then ask yourself this," I said. "Is she the only way you can imagine a porch? Or just the first way?"
He swallowed.
He knew the answer.
He just didn't like it.
"I hate this," he said. "I hate that I finally have her and I still feel… unsettled. Shouldn't this feel like… coming home?"
"Sometimes it feels like camping in someone else's house," I said. "You like being there, but you're always aware it's temporary if you're not on the same page."
He closed his eyes.
"My parents like her," he said. "I saw it. But I also saw Mom mentally calculating how long she'll have to wait before we give her grandkids—if ever."
"You can't fix their expectations and hers at the same time," I said. "At some point, you have to choose whose future you're actually living for."
He chewed that, jaw tight.
"It just feels like… whatever I do, I'm disappointing someone," he murmured.
"Welcome to adulthood," I said.
He shot me a look.
"Helpful," he said.
I shrugged.
"Look," I said, "you don't have to decide anything today. All you have to do is be honest. With her, with you, with them. If you spend this whole relationship trying to pretend you don't want what you want, you'll blow it. If you try to force her into your map, you'll blow it. The only way this works is if you let it be what it is, not what you wish it was."
He stared at his reflection.
"What if what it is… isn't enough?" he whispered.
"Then you'll survive that too," I said quietly. "And it'll suck. And you'll be mad at me for being right. And eventually you'll forgive me."
He huffed out a sad laugh.
He splashed water on his face.
"Do you… ever feel like this?" he asked. "Like you're living a life Mom and Dad don't quite recognize?"
I thought of skyscrapers and servers and press junkets.
Of this girl in my T-shirt sitting at family brunch like she'd been there forever.
"Every day," I said. "Difference is, I stopped apologizing for it a long time ago."
He dried his face.
"I'm not you," he said.
"Thank God," I said. "We only need one of me. But you can borrow my backbone sometimes, if you want."
He took a deep breath.
"Okay," he said. "Okay. I'm going to go back out there, eat my last pancake, and not propose in a blind panic just to make everyone feel better."
"Excellent plan," I said. "Low bar. Proud of you."
He rolled his eyes.
We headed back.
---
Back at the Table – Bryce vs. Expectations
When we got back, Bryce and Mom were deep in quiet conversation.
That was rarely a good sign.
"…so of course I thought I'd be married by thirty," Mom was saying. "That's just how it was back then. You find a nice boy, you settle down, you build a home."
"And then what?" Bryce asked gently.
Mom blinked.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"After the settling," Bryce said. "After the kids. What was the… dream then? For you. Not just for them."
Mom's hands fidgeted with her napkin.
"Oh, well," she said. "I suppose… I thought I'd paint more. I used to paint, you know. In college. Little landscapes, still lifes. Nothing special."
Her gaze unfocused for a second.
"Then there were soccer practices, and recitals, and grading papers," she said. "We told ourselves we'd have more time later."
"Did you?" Bryce asked.
Mom smiled, soft and a little sad.
"Some," she said. "Not as much as I imagined. That's life, I guess. You trade some dreams for others."
Bryce nodded slowly.
"I think," she said carefully, "that's what scares me about the way people talk about 'settling down.' Like it's a finish line. A place where everything stops moving. For some of us… that sounds like losing air."
Mom looked at her.
"You're worried we think that's the only happy ending," she said.
"A little," Bryce admitted. "People see me with Nox and assume the next step is ring, wedding, kids, suburbs. Scorecard complete. But that's not… us. Our version of home doesn't look like a brochure."
Mom glanced at me.
"You don't want a house?" she asked. "Kids?"
I met her gaze.
"When I was younger," I said, "I wanted out more than I wanted anything. Out of town, out of expectations, out of small. I built Nyx because I wanted to know what it felt like to have a life big enough that I could choose."
"And now?" she asked.
"Now I want…" I paused, searching. "Stability that doesn't feel like a cage. People I love around me because they want to be, not because they're checking off boxes. Maybe kids one day, maybe not. Home, yes. Just… not the same blueprint."
Mom studied me the way she used to when I'd come home with a scraped knee and a bad lie.
Finally, she nodded.
"I can live with that," she said. "As long as you're… happy. And not just busy."
I swallowed more emotion than I was ready to admit was there.
"I'm working on it," I said.
---
After Brunch – Sidewalk Debrief
We spilled out onto the sidewalk, the way people do when they've shared too much sugar and too many generational expectations.
Mom hugged everyone again, giving Robin a lingering, evaluative squeeze.
"It really was lovely to meet you," she said. "You're very… spirited."
"Thank you," Robin said, equally polite.
Dad shook my hand, then Ted's, then patted Bryce's shoulder.
"Take care of each other," he said, like he was issuing both a blessing and a warning.
They headed off toward the subway, hand in hand.
The four of us—me, Bryce, Ted, Robin—stood there watching them go.
"Well," Robin said eventually, "that was… intense."
"They liked you," Ted said quickly. "They really liked you."
"They liked parts of me," she corrected. "The reporter part. The competent part. The not-explicitly-saying-I-hate-babies part."
She sighed.
"Look, Ted," she said. "Your parents are lovely. Really. But they have a very clear picture in their heads of what your life should look like. I'm… not that picture."
He flinched.
"That doesn't mean—" he started.
"I know," she said. "I know you don't want to shove me into a mold. But part of you… still wants that mold. The house. The porch. The kids."
She looked him straight in the eye.
"And part of me still doesn't," she said. "Not right now. Maybe not ever. And I don't want you climbing into bed every night with me and some ghost of a future wife who bakes casseroles and loves PTA meetings."
Ted went pale.
"I don't want that," he said. "I want you."
"For now," she said softly.
He recoiled like she'd slapped him.
"That's… harsh," he said.
"It's honest," she replied. "You wanted honest, remember? We're being real this time. No more pretending we're heading toward the same finish line if we're not sure."
Bryce stepped in, not to interrupt, but to steady the air.
"You two don't have to solve ten years from now on a Sunday sidewalk," she said gently. "Just… don't lie to yourselves about what you want. That's how resentment grows. And resentment doesn't care how cute the love story was."
They both looked away.
I saw it, though.
The first clear outline of the fork in their path.
Not a fight.
Not yet.
Just the knowledge that one day, they'd have to choose.
Between each other.
Or themselves.
---
2030s – Couch, Again
"So that brunch," you say slowly, "was really the start of the end for them."
"Not immediately," I say. "They still had a lot of good days. Good nights. Inside jokes. Love. But yeah—this was one of those days where the future stepped a little closer and said, 'We're going to have a conversation later.'"
Bryce nods.
"And it was also," she says, "the day your grandparents realized both their sons weren't going to live the exact life they'd imagined. One was going to chase a porch with the wrong person first. The other was going to avoid porches altogether until he found a… different kind of home."
You look between us.
"So you don't regret it?" you ask. "Building Nyx. Not doing the house, white fence thing."
I think about it.
About all of it.
"I don't regret who I became," I say. "I regret how long it took me to admit what I wanted out loud. Your dad and I took different roads. Neither of us took the wrong one. We just… tripped a lot on the way."
Bryce leans her head against my shoulder.
"And that's Season 2 in a nutshell," she says. "Everyone tripping toward the people they're supposed to be."
You groan.
"This is exhausting," you complain. "Does it get less emotionally complicated?"
We both laugh.
"No," we say in unison.
"But," I add, "it does get funnier. Next up: work stress, apartment ghosts, and Marshall trying to fix his heart with Excel."
Bryce grins.
"Also," she says, "Barney invents a productivity system based on lies."
You stare.
"…Of course he does," you say.
"Welcome to S2E4," I say. "Where the adults keep pretending they have it together, and the universe politely disagrees."