YOU (You)

I've always believed in The One.

That there's someone out there for me.

A perfect match, a soulmate.

And for The One, I would do anything.

I've had my heart broken more than once.

Rot in there, you psychotic asshole.

And things haven't always been easy in my life.

What did you do?

But all that felt worth it when I met Love Quinn.

I wolf you.

I loved her.

I embraced all of her, even the hard parts.

All you ever have to do is keep your brother safe. You failed.

But I was wrong... about Love.

Find a city. When you get there, I'll help you get legal ID,

I will send you money, not abandon you.

Burn in hell.

And by then, it was too late.

We can be together now.

I don't think we can.

- Really, really, truly. - No, I'm pregnant!

And then I realized who I really need to protect.

Our daughter.

For her, I moved to some soulless,

wealthy suburb outside San Francisco.

For her, I'd marry the monster, her mother.

For her, I'd lock myself into this prison.

Not sure how I'm ever going to get us both out.

But there's one part of the old me I can't quite shake.

I still believe in The One.

That the right person is out there for me.

I never thought to wonder what happens after boy gets girl.

'Cause we know:

"And they lived happily ever after."

Fade to black, roll credits.

I should have asked more questions.

'Cause I've been in some harrowing situations in my life.

But this?

I could really use a map.

Joe. Joe.

That's your cue.

It's time to cut the umbilical cord.

But I've forged my way in the dark before, I can do it now.

I have to.

To protect my daughter.

Congratulations, Dad. It's a boy.

- It's a boy? - Hey.

- Hi. - I'm fucked.

And so is he.

- Careful. Careful. - And what's our future president's name?

Henry.

Does he have a middle name?

Forty Quinn-Goldberg.

We were told it would be a girl.

Oh, probably just shy.

- Kept the goods hidden. - Karma. God owed us a boy.

As I was saying, fucked.

Now that the baby's here,

at least our white picket purgatory feels logical.

We moved to Madre Linda for the schools, after all.

When that patented NorCal fog burns off, you can see for miles.

Miles of nosy neighbors, peering suspiciously

from behind lawn care equipment and video doorbells.

But, hey, safest neighborhood in the Golden State.

And who wouldn't sell their soul for that?

We have everything.

So he has everything.

The perfect family, funded by Quinn blood money.

We wanted to get here all on our own.

You compromise when you have to, when it's for them.

Welcome home, Forty.

Maybe we can use his real name.

We're a family.

Me, a boy and his mom, who is usually great

but occasionally murders people with her bare hands.

What could go wrong?

We've barely left the house since that drive home from the hospital.

I'd imagined parenthood would feel like an essay by Nicholson Baker.

Tiny moments made magnificent.

Yeah.

Or maybe a novel by Louisa May Alcott.

Hard work but rewarding. Noble, even.

- Go, go, go. - Okay, okay, okay.

Turns out, parenthood is Groundhog Day

as written by Jean-Paul Sartre.

Joe.

Despite living in some Greek myth

about pushing a boulder of baby poop up a hill,

it's incredible, the urge to protect.

I feel it in my bones. I would do anything for him.

"I thought of Gatsby's wonder when he first picked out

the green light at the end of Daisy's dock.

He'd come a long way to this blue lawn, and it..."

It's okay.

What I don't feel is connection.

The more I try to bond, the more he cries.

He knows we don't have it.

- You okay? - I'm fine.

"I'm fine" is code for "nipples are bleeding,

hormones still a mosh pit,

haven't slept in six months, and have not begun to process

the death of my brother."

I'm here. Where's my perfect boy?

Look what Glamma got Forty.

Also not processing Forty's death,

Glamma Dottie, who got a condo 30 minutes away.

Mom, his name is Henry.

Well, Henry smells like he needs a change.

I'll do it. If you just, uh...

take a few photos for my feed.

- Okay. - Though she is chronicling her grief

extensively on Instagram.

And her shaman officially confirmed that Henry is Forty, reincarnated.

Given how ecstatic he is when she comes around

and how, well, not with me, Dottie's Shaman might be right.

At least I have a small remnant of my former life.

There's no bookstore in this circle of hell,

but I found willing buyers online.

And I send the profits to Ellie...

whenever I hear from her.

On the rare occasion we do venture into the wild, Forty...

No, no. Henry inevitably cries before we're handed our lattes.

Aw.

My twins had an oral fixation for the record books.

Sherry, by the way.

As in, locally famous momfluencer Sherry Conrad.

Her blog slash podcast slash brand, Heart-Shaped Mistakes...

Kill me... is a mecca of humblebragging and superiority

fronting as hard-earned wisdom.

- I'm Love. - Quinn-Goldberg?

- And this is Joe? - Yeah.

And Mr. Handsome here is Forty, is it?

- Henry. It's Henry. - Crazy it's taken months for us to meet.

Yeah. Well, newborn, you know.

Oh, my God. I completely understand.

Glad we're able to run into each other.

We gotta get coffee together, Love. I'll share all my secrets.

That tone,

warm with an undertone of Peach-level condescension.

You're doing great. Bye.

Thanks. Bye.

Like I need her approval. What the fuck?

She's lucky I didn't stab her in the eye. Let's go.

Thing about trying to keep a human infant alive,

you can't afford to think too hard about who you're in the trenches with.

I'm in the trenches with a woman

who jokes about stabbing someone in the eye,

- but is actually perfectly capable of it. - Want some?

Mm. Thank you.

I don't let myself think about who Love is, what she is.

My job is to be a good husband so I can be a good father.

Hey, Natalie!

Hi.

I don't get what her problem is.

- What? Who? - Our neighbor, Natalie.

She didn't give us a housewarming gift, nothing when Forty was born.

Henry. Henry.

Yeah, I think you're right. She seems a little off.

What, did I kiss you wrong? Or...

No, no, I'm just tired.

And this place is a mess. And Sherry just said to my face...

- basically, that I'm a mess. - She's an idiot. Just lie down.

I'll take care of this, take care of him.

Shh.

And there he goes. Every time I touch him.

Just fucking let me do it, Joe. Joe. Joe.

It's fine.

Come on. Let's go. Let's go.

Hey, hey, hey.

Why does my own child not like me?

You know, babies can tell when your heart's not in it.

- I... What...? - No. I'm sorry. It's all in my head.

Go fuck yourself.

Love's right. My heart's not really in it.

How could it be when you stole it?

Love?

Hey, uh...

we're running low on diapers, so I'll be right back.

Honestly, you're what's gotten me through this imprisonment.

The green light at the end of my dock.

Knowing you feel the same as I do.

Hello, neighbor.

I don't want it to happen here like this.

I want you some place luxurious. You deserve that.

The car is fine. Shut up and kiss me.

Did you just read my mind?

- Hey, neighbor. - Hi, Natalie.

You must be so under-slept. I hear your baby crying all the time.

- Oh. - No, no. Babies cry. Just...

I get why you might be sleeping in a grocery store parking lot.

Here. I thought I'd save you a trip.

You've been watching me too.

- Thank you. - One more thing.

Don't believe the bullshit about breastfeeding preventing pregnancy.

My sister got knocked up so fast.

Friends tell friends. So...

Are you flirting with me?

Sure, the condom thing may be a little joke from a neighbor

with a mild taste for stirring the pot.

Just friendly. Very friendly though.