“Spoken like a well-trained man.” She hiked up her shirt, whipped out a boob and started feeding Marcus. “Okay. So there I was, driving down the fucking highway.”

“Marcus’s first word is going to be ‘fuck,’” Noah said.

“And suddenly I’m sitting in a puddle, and I think, shit, did I just pee myself? But no! My water broke!”

Like every woman on the face of the earth, Mickey thought her labor was the most special thing that ever happened. And, like every woman, she was right. She walked me through the details of contractions and transition, the pain, the pushing, her fear of pooping herself. I glanced at my dad, but he seemed content, his hand on Pepper’s head.

“And then they put the mirror up so I can see his little furry head coming out, and I’m thinking, ‘Is that even me? It looks like the surface of fucking Mars or something!’ You ever see your parts stretched out like that, Sadie?”

“Sadly, no, but I can’t wait after hearing this.”

“So anyway, I’m half-horrified, half-fascinated, half in love with myself because my fucking body is producing a human child, and Noah is crying—”

“Were you?” I asked.

“Manly tears. Yes.” He smiled, that fast, flashing smile that was like a bucket of lust splashed over me.

“And then the baby’s head pops out, and there’s this gross little spurt of blood because of the tearing—”

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” I said, my stomach rolling.

“—but it’s a baby, right? A baby!”

“As opposed to the hippo we’d been praying for,” Noah said.

“And then one more push, and there he was, all gross and slimy and fucking beautiful.” Her eyes were full of tears. “Best day of my life.”

“Mine, too,” Noah said, and he got up, kissed her head and sat down next to her, an arm around her shoulders.

“Well,” I said, “that was disgusting, but I’m glad you went through it, because I’m rather fond of this little guy.”

“Here’s my advice. Don’t have kids if you’re not dying to. They’re adorable, tiny terrorists, that’s what they are, holding you hostage till the day you die.” She slid her little finger into the baby’s mouth, and he popped off, treating me to a graphic view of Mickey’s nipple. Then she passed the baby to Noah, who put him on his shoulder and patted his back.

Noah Sebastian Pelletier was so . . . perfect. My face felt soft and gooey with adoration, same as when I saw pictures of Chris Hemsworth holding his children.

“What’s the prognosis on your dad?” Noah asked. “Any updates?”

“What? Oh. No updates, but he’s getting a lot better. Right, Dad? He said my name today. He’s a lot more attentive, too. Doing great.”

“No,” said my father, and we all froze.

“What’s that, Daddy?” I said.

“No.”