I was laughing at someone’s joke though I hadn’t understood it. Gigi was talking about how I was a mother too, and how that was the real impressive thing about my art—that I’d managed to continue making anything at all. Though I wasn’t deluded into thinking I actually was Lonnie, into believing any of those people, as she spoke—my shoulder pressed up against her armpit in a way that made me feel sick—I kept thinking: Where’s my baby where’s my baby where’s my baby.

I found them later, after I’d been served a handful of tiny toasts and little fried things on sticks and was sober enough to excuse myself and make my way to Lonnie’s car. Lonnie had laid William in the back seat where, I could see because the door was open, he was curled in a little ball next to his car seat. Meanwhile, Lonnie and Alex were side by side on the hood, their heads against the windshield, fireflies flitting around them, like some kind of gross romance movie. I cursed myself for not leaving sooner, for not even thinking about Alex. I could hear their low voices whispering and laughing together.

My heels crunched over the gravel, too quick for me to worry about getting caught on the uneven surface. Lonnie popped up from behind Alex’s body as I approached. “Hey,” she said. “How’d it go? I had to leave, Billy was about to cry.”

Her casualness annoyed me. “It went great,” I said, looking at her mouth, trying to make out in the dim light coming from the open car door, whether or not her lips were swollen from kissing.

“Hi.” Alex offered me a little wave. I ignored him, though I was conscious of my rudeness. “I’m sorry,” I said. “You got me way too drunk. Can we go?”

Lonnie slid off the car hood. “Of course,” she said.

Alex followed her and they exchanged a long hug. I lifted William and put him in his car seat. I wasn’t particularly gentle and he woke and started crying as I buckled him in. I was glad—his cries dragged Lonnie into the car behind us. The interior lights switched off when she shut her door and the dash lit up green. She turned to me in the dark, ignoring William’s tired crying. “Are you okay?” she said, her hand on my knee.

“I don’t like Alex,” I told her. “He’s a creep.”

She laughed. “He’s just a boy.”