“Pretty pathetic, huh?” I lean on the counter and pull the burgundy fabric swatches toward me. “These are pretty. I like the quilting in this one, and the thin darker stripe in this one. What are you thinking of doing with them?”

“Covering the couch and ottoman in our new addition.”

“But the ottoman was just upholstered.”

“I don’t like it. It’s too light, too summery. Now that they’ve begun staining the beams, I can see that the colors are all wrong.”

“I like them,” I say, handing back the fabric. “But I’d have to see everything together. You’ve bought some new furniture since I was last there.”

“Come over with the kids.”

I laugh. “When?”

Kris grimaces. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

But the conversation with Kris gives me an idea. I don’t need a wife, but a nanny—an afternoon baby-sitter—sounds wonderful.

I call Kris later that evening, and she gives me the name of a baby-sitter she uses, a college student in a sorority at the University of Washington. Kris says she’s sure her baby-sitter knows other girls who’d like part-time work.

I talk to Kris’s sitter and follow up with her roommate, and thirty minutes later I’ve got child care for after school. The kids aren’t thrilled with the prospect of a baby-sitter, but I assure them she’s young and pretty (what sorority girl isn’t?) and a lot more fun than I am.

But on Saturday when Daniel and I meet at William’s basketball game—many of the other parents giving us a conspicuously wide berth—Daniel has plenty to say about my hiring a baby-sitter without discussing it with him first.

I try to remind myself that Daniel wants what’s best for the kids, but it’s hard to keep that uppermost in mind when he lectures me as though I’m some punk kid. I shouldn’t have hired her without a face-to-face meeting. I should have gotten a list of references (I did) and then called each of them to follow up (I didn’t). I should have checked out her driving record, made sure she had insurance (I did ask about insurance, and she said she was covered), and inquired about her car.

As Daniel talks, I have to move aside repeatedly to let people pass and find myself wishing his girlfriend were here. When Melinda’s around, Daniel doesn’t speak to me—which is actually more comfortable all the way around.

“Lisa’s great, Daniel. I really like her, the kids like her. She’s already sat for us twice, and not only did she make sure they got their homework done, she even arranged a play date for Jessica yesterday.”