Kirk had just announced our engagement. Joy was my problem. No, not my problem. Joy was my desired state. Joy. Right.

"Thank you," I whispered into Kirk's ear. "Thank you for being here for me."

I decided to forgo the announcement that Kirk and I were trying to have a baby, a baby whose birth would be assisted by Kirk's health insurance plan, something I didn't have as a lone couples counselor. Kirk not only was a brilliant designer of carpets, but he worked for a mega textile group. Kirk had a complete benefits package. And I had none.

"Way to go, Kirk," Rusty said.

I snuck another peek at my new fiancé. He reminded me of Dad in that moment. The intense dark eyes behind steel-rimmed glasses. The narrow face. The passion for elegance. The earnestness. The kindness. The shy humor. Not every woman married a version of her father, but a lot of them did. I'd just never noticed the physical similarities so clearly before that day. My hands felt suddenly cold. Stress, I self-diagnosed. Simple stress, nothing more.

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