I need help. What I need, I think, isn’t a husband, but a wife. A wife to run the errands, make sure we’ve fresh milk and meat and produce. A wife to get the laundry caught up while overseeing the homework. A wife to book my hair appointment and leave a little note on my desk letting me know where and when. Yes. That’s exactly what I want, but if my dating a younger man in Hawaii caused quite a stir, can you imagine how folks would react to my taking a wife? (I’m imagining a mail-order bride. Russian, maybe, just for shock effect.)

Kristine swings by Friday afternoon at four-thirty with a couple of six-by-eight fabric swatches.

“What are you doing in my neck of the woods?” I ask as we head to the kitchen, where she lays the fabric samples on my kitchen counter.

“Andrew had a play date with a little boy down the street. The mom called me, said the nanny was having car problems and could I bring her son home.” Kris makes a face. “Sure. Let me just ask my nanny.”

“I didn’t know you had a nanny,” I say, offering her a Diet Coke.

Kristine passes on the soda. “I don’t. I’ve just been using a U of W student a couple afternoons a week. But have you ever noticed how many moms around here have full-time help? And what do these moms do all day while their nannies raise their children? I know Meredith doesn’t work. She’s always at Starbucks. Or the club,” she says, referring to the Seattle Tennis Club.

“She does do volunteer work—”

“She doesn’t.”

“I think she does. She’s co-chair for the school auction. Last year they raised nearly half a million dollars. Apparently Meredith is the school’s savior.”

“That’s even more disgusting.”

“You’re in a worse mood than I am. What’s wrong?”

Kris sighs, rubs her forehead. “Doug’s leaving for Germany on Sunday. He’ll be gone for another week. He’s just gone so much lately. It’s hard. Hard on me, hard on the kids.”

“Let’s get together next week for dinner. Bring the kids here, or I’ll take my kids there. It’d be fun. I get lonely in the evenings and would love some adult company.”

“What night? We’ve speech therapy late on Monday and Thursday, Wednesday is karate, Friday’s free… or maybe not. I invited some moms from my Peps group over. Would Tuesday work?”

“Tuesday’s the night we have ballet and basketball—or is it baseball now?—I can never keep the sports straight.”

“So there’s no free night next week.”