“That’s amazing. Congratulations.” I leaned down to hug her and plant a kiss on her cheek. This felt monumental, exciting in a way I’d never experienced before. “I’ve always wanted to change careers and go into nannying, so—”

“Good lord, no.” She shook her head. “Besides, we need you as our cat sitter. Luna might get jealous.”

“Have you told your parents yet?” I asked, plopping into the armchair across from her.

“Not yet. It’s still early,” she added, “so we’re not telling many people. You should be freakin’ honored to be in such an exclusive group.”

I fist-pumped to show my enthusiasm. But my mind was also racing through everything Eleanor had coming up this year. Our big move, possible new clients, wedding planning with Henry. And now, a kid. Her life was chugging ahead, checking boxes I thought I’d have filled by now. I felt a pang of envy and sadness mixed in with the joy.

“Congrats, man,” I said to Henry as he motioned for me to follow him into the kitchen. “You’re going to be the coolest dad in all five boroughs.”

Henry laughed and then paused in thought. “Yeah, you might actually be right.” He took the wine out of my hands, sticking it on the counter next to a giant colander. “Change of menu tonight. Eleanor can’t stand the thought of chicken right now, so I’m making spaghetti, with a nice arrabbiata sauce for us. Hers is gonna be plain.”

“You know I can hear you, Chef!” Eleanor shouted from the living room, just a few feet away.

“I’ll crack this open,” Henry said, grabbing a corkscrew out of a drawer. “If you could bring this to my lovely fiancée.”

He passed me a glass of purple liquid.

“Gatorade,” he muttered, his voice low. “This is the only flavor she can stomach.”

“Again, I can hear you,” Eleanor called. “Pregnancy has given me endless nausea but also supersonic hearing.”

“I love you!” Henry replied, turning back toward the bubbling pot on the stove.

I wandered into the living room, Gatorade in hand.

“Hayes,” she groaned, now lying flat on her back with a pile of crackers on her stomach. “I’m sorry I went and got pregnant right before our big office move.”

“How dare you,” I said dryly with a smile. “How far along are you?”

“Almost eight weeks. The barfing started just a few days ago.” She gagged a little as she said it.

“Eleanor,” I said, my voice gentle as I sat back down. “This is huge. The work stuff will figure itself out.”

I said the words for myself as much as for her. We’d figure it out. We always did. But it still left a small ripple of nerves in my gut.

“I know,” she said, tilting her head toward me in a smile. “And I am excited.”

“For our move, or for the baby?”