I was still recovering from Alexander’s cheating and lying, granted. I had loved him, or the him I thought he was. Then there were the feelings of stupidity and humiliation, of being less than, because he needed three girlfriends, not just me. I’d thought I found a man who loved me without that sense of . . . expectation Noah always had. Like, until I lived life the way Noah wanted me to—that was, move to Stoningham and start popping out babies—I was a disappointment.

Alexander had taken me exactly as I was. He’d been generous, fun, not unintelligent, easygoing. All he needed was two other women to make his life complete.

Oh, the fuckery of it all.

At any rate, I’d called Noah, told him two wealthy brownstone owners needed a window seat pronto, did he want a quick job in the city? Much to my surprise, he said yes.

When I arrived at his house this morning, he’d been passing off Marcus to Mickey in the front yard, daffodils blooming, sun shining on his hair.

“Girlfriend!” sang Mickey. “How you doing? Damn, you’re so stinkin’ cute. I could be gay for you.”

“You are gay, you tease. Hi, Marcus.” The baby smiled at me, and my ovaries spontaneously frothed over with eggs.

“Want to hold him?”

“We need to get on the road,” Noah said at the same moment I said, “God, yes.”

Mickey smiled and passed me her son. The warm, wriggly weight of him, his sturdy little legs kicking, and yes, people, the smell of his head . . . God. “Hello, gorgeous,” I said. His lashes were so long and silky, and his cheeks were fat and pink and delicious.

“Dwah!” he said, taking a fistful of my hair and tugging. “Baba!”

“He’s a genius!” I said to the parents.

Noah was smiling. Just a little, and probably at his son.

“Please, please, let’s get together,” Mickey said. “I want to see your goofy little house and drink wine.”

“Done,” said I.

“You’re nursing,” Noah said.

“Oh, am I, Noah? I forgot that my breasts are as big as watermelons and my nipples look like saucers and milk spurts out of me every time this baby smiles.” She rolled her eyes. “Mansplainer. Shame on you! I’ll pump that night and chuck it. Jeez. The nursing police here, Sadie.”

“He’s horrible. I’m sorry for all you endure.” She grinned. I liked her so much.

“We do need to go, Sadie,” Noah said.

I kissed the baby’s head—oh! The soft spot! So dear!—and handed him back to Mickey. “I’ll call you.”

“You better. Bye, Noah! Marcus, wave bye to Daddy!” She held up his fat fist and jiggled it.

Noah leaned in and kissed his child. “I love you,” he said, and my ovaries frothed again. “See you tomorrow, sweetheart.”