She laughs and Marshall grabs the onesie out of her hand. He unzips it and helps her into it. Once we’re all suited up, we lock the door and head to the bar.


    I’ve never in my life seen so many men in onesies. Allysa and I are the only women wearing them, but I kind of like that. It’s loud. So loud, and each time the Bruins make a good play, Allysa and I have to cover our ears from the screams. After about half an hour, a booth on the top floor opens up and we all run upstairs to claim it.


    “Much better,” Allysa says as we slide in. It’s much quieter up here, although still loud compared to normal standards.


    A waitress comes over to take our drink order. I order red wine, and as soon as I do, Marshall practically jumps out of his seat. “Wine?” he yells. “You’re in a onesie! You don’t get free wine with a onesie!”


    He tells the waitress to bring me a beer, instead. Ryle tells her to bring me wine. Allysa wants water, and this upsets Marshall even more. He tells the waitress to bring four bottles of beer and then Ryle says, “Two beers, red wine, and a water.” The waitress is very confused by the time she leaves our table.


    Marshall throws his arm around Allysa and kisses her. “How am I supposed to try and knock you up tonight if you aren’t a little wasted?”


    The look on Allysa’s face changes, and I feel instantly bad for her. I know Marshall only said that in fun, but it has to bother her. She was just telling me a few days ago how depressed she is that she can’t get pregnant.


    “I can’t have beer, Marshall.”


    “Then drink wine, at least. You like me more when you’re tipsy.” He laughs at himself, but Allysa doesn’t.


    “I can’t have wine, either. I can’t have any alcohol, actually.”


    Marshall stops laughing.


    My heart does a flip-flop.


    Marshall turns in the booth and grabs her shoulders, making her face him straight-on. “Allysa?”


    She just starts nodding and I don’t know who starts crying first. Me or Marshall or Allysa. “I’m gonna be a dad?” he yells.


    She’s still nodding, and I’m just bawling like an idiot. Marshall jumps up in the booth and yells, “I’m gonna be a dad!”


    I can’t even explain what this moment is like. A grown man in a onesie, standing up in a booth at a bar, yelling to whoever will listen that he’s gonna be a dad. He pulls her up and they’re both standing in the booth now. He kisses her and it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.


    Until I look at Ryle and catch him chewing on his bottom lip like he’s trying to blink back a potential tear. He glances at me and sees me staring, so he looks away. “Shut up,” he says. “She’s my sister.”


    I smile and lean over and kiss him on the cheek. “Congratulations, Uncle Ryle.”


    Once the parents-to-be stop making out in the booth, Ryle and I both stand up and congratulate them. Allysa said she’s been feeling sick for a while, but just took a test this morning before our grand opening. She was going to wait and tell Marshall tonight when they got home, but she couldn’t hold it in for another second.


    Our drinks come and we order food. Once the waitress walks away, I look at Marshall. “How did you two meet?”


    He says, “Allysa tells the story better than I do.”


    Allysa perks up and leans forward. “I hated him,” she says. “He was Ryle’s best friend and he was always at the house. I thought he was so annoying. He had just moved to Ohio from Boston and he had that Boston accent. He thought it made him so cool but I just wanted to slap him every time he spoke.”


    “She’s so sweet,” Marshall says, sarcastically.


    “You were an idiot,” Allysa replies, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, one day Ryle and I had a few friends over. Nothing big, but our parents were out of town, so of course we had a little get-together.”


    “There were thirty people there,” Ryle says. “It was a party.”


    “Okay, a party,” Allysa says. “I walked into the kitchen and Marshall was standing there pressed up against some floozy.”


    “She wasn’t a floozy,” he says. “She was a nice girl. Tasted like Cheetos, but . . .”


    Allysa glares at him so he shuts up. She turns back to me. “I lost it,” she says. “I started yelling at him to take his whores to his own house. The girl was literally so terrified of me, she ran for the door and didn’t come back.”


    “Cock blocker,” Marshall says.


    Allysa punches him in the shoulder. “Anyway. After I cock blocked him, I ran to my room, embarrassed that I did that. It was out of pure jealousy, and I didn’t even realize I liked him that way until I saw his hands on some other girl’s ass. I threw myself on my bed and started crying. A few minutes later, he walked into my room and asked me if I was okay. I rolled over and yelled, ‘I like you, you stupid fuck-face!’?”


    “And the rest is history . . .” Marshall says.


    I laugh. “Awe. Stupid fuck-face. How sweet.”


    Ryle holds up a finger and says, “You’re leaving out the best part.”


    Allysa shrugs. “Oh yeah. So Marshall walked over to me, pulled me off the bed, kissed me with the same mouth he was just kissing the floozy with, and we made out for half an hour. Ryle walked in on us and started screaming at Marshall. Then Marshall pushed Ryle out of my bedroom, locked the door, and made out with me for another hour.”