But she’s right. People are staring. Across from us, a woman in an impeccable maternity outfit licks her forefinger and turns the page of a novel, but she’s not looking at the words, only at us. She’s easily in her third trimester, the cover of the book submerged in the sponge of her belly. And there are other furtive glances our way. Why are all these mothers-to-be assessing us? Perhaps it’s a trait among pregnant women in an ob-gyn waiting room—the need to compare, to outdo. Who will win the prize for Best Baby, Best Mom? Or maybe they’re trying to figure out how we’re connected, why I’m here with her rather than, say, her husband. From our lack of affection, it’s pretty clear we’re not a couple.

“Try this.” I hand Ruth a small book of baby names. “Might as well be prepared.”

She takes the book but doesn’t open it.

“What about Oscar? I’ve always liked that name.”

She makes a noise like she’s blowing a fly off her lip. “That’s such a Chase name.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’d call his son something posh and corporate, ready for a pinstriped suit. A name for a New York portfolio.” She pauses. “Remington. Hamilton. Excalibur.”

I laugh—I can’t help it, even though I feel a twinge of disloyalty. She joins in, pleased.

“I thought you were getting on well with Chase.” It’s not a question. “You’re watching TV together, sitting on the couch, drinking your little smoothies.”

She ignores my sarcasm and begins to flick through pages of the baby book. “That’s on you, Alex. You picked an easy guy to get on with.”

I can’t quite read her tone. “Chase is really good for me.”

When she speaks again, her voice is lighter. “Did you know we’re predisposed to choose men who remind us of our fathers? Does Chase remind you of Dad?”

I snort. “Dad was not an easy guy to get on with.”

“I know, right?” She leans in, now conspiratorial. “He was so harsh all the time. Getting praise from him was like—”

“He was still a good man, Ruth,” I cut in. I can’t let her speak ill of him, especially after what she put him through. “If he was harsh, he was also fair. I learned a lot from him.”

She sinks back in her chair, her expression closed, and for a moment, I’m sorry. It’s her own fault, though.

“Dad took a strong line on things, but he had integrity. The world needs more of that.” I keep my tone level. “Unlike your Hal.”

She rolls her eyes. “Haven’t you given that up yet?”