Tully grinned at her. “My deepest apologies for that, but you’ll notice that I have no bun in the oven. I don’t believe I’m within eight hundred miles of a bun, in fact. So, not only can I have a margarita, but after putting together that crib—a job which, I might add, is totally Johnny’s and in fact required a scrotum to complete in less than a full day—I deserve a margarita. And you, O fattening one, can have a virgin drink. Ironic, don’t you think?”

Arm in arm, they went to the kitchen and made the drinks. All the way there, and back to the living room, where they sat in front of the fire, they talked. About little things, mostly—the speeding ticket Tully got last week, Sean’s new girlfriend, the class Mom was taking at the local community college.

“What’s it like,” Tully asked when Kate got up to put a log on the fire, “being married?”

“Well, it’s only been three months, so I’m hardly an expert, but so far it’s great.” She sat back down and put her feet on the coffee table, resting her hand on the barely noticeable bump of her stomach. “You’ll think I’m crazy, but I love the routine, the way we have breakfast together, each reading our own stuff; I love that he’s the first person I see every morning and that he kisses me goodnight before I fall asleep.” She smiled at Tully. “But I miss sharing a bathroom with you. He’s constantly moving my stuff and putting it away—and then he forgets where he put it. How about you, Tully? How’s life in our old apartment?”

“Lonely,” Tully said, shrugging and smiling as if she didn’t care. “I’m getting used to it again.”

“You can call anytime, you know.”

“And I do.” Tully laughed and poured herself a second margarita. “Have you guys figured out the plan for life after my godchild’s birth? Will they let you have a few weeks off?”

This was the subject Kate had tried to avoid. She’d known what she wanted to do from the moment Johnny had married her, but she hadn’t had the courage to tell Tully. She took a deep breath. “I’m quitting.”

“What? Why? They’ve got you on the best accounts, and you and Johnny are making good money. It’s 1987 for crying out loud. You don’t have to quit your job to be a mother. You can hire a nanny.”

“I don’t want someone else raising this baby. At least not until kindergarten.”

That got Tully on her feet. “Kindergarten? What is that, eight years?”

Kate smiled at that. “Five.”

“But—”

“No buts. It’s important to me to be a good mother. You, of all people, should understand how much it matters to a kid.”