“Mommy.”

“Yes, baby?”

“I haz to pee,” Daisy said.

Too many juice boxes. My bad.

I did a quick calculation. The library restroom was too far away. The park was closer, but that would involve a detour to the playground. I looked at my daughter’s anxious face, at DJ, idly rubbing the satin edge of his blanket against his cheek. It would have to be the playground.

“What a big girl you are. Thank you for telling Mommy.”

“Meg! I was just fixing to call you.”

Sallie.

I snapped the cashbox closed. “Hey, Sallie. I should have called you. To thank you for the party.”

“You left early. I barely saw you.”

Ned saw me. Clear to the waist. I stooped to zip DJ’s jacket, hiding my hot face. “Well, you know . . . The kids . . .”

“I haz to pee bad,” Daisy said, right on cue.

“In a minute, honey. I’m taking them to the park,” I said to Sallie. “There’s a restroom there.”

“Oh.” Sallie’s face fell and then brightened. “I could go with you. Like old times.”

The times when we did everything together, including go to the bathroom. Sneaking off to reapply lip gloss, to check our teeth in the mirror and readjust our thongs. Dragging each other off to compare notes on our dates, for pep talks or a good cry. Always a pair, Sallie and Meg.

A thirtysomething wearing a knit toboggan hat stepped up, recalling me to the present. “You got any of that cheese from last week? In the jar?”

I cleared my throat. “The marinated feta? We sure do.”

Daisy danced from foot to foot. “Mommy.”

“Sorry,” I said. To the guy in the knit hipster hat? To Sallie? “I’ll be right back.”

“Let me take her,” Sallie said.

“I don’t . . . DJ should go, too.”

“I can take both of them.”

I hesitated. Hipster Hat was waiting.

Sallie smiled winningly. “Please?”

“Peez!” Daisy repeated.

“They can be a handful. Do you want the stroller?”

“Do you guys want the stroller?” Sallie asked my children. “No? Let’s go, then. Maybe after we go potty—”

“And wash our hands,” I added automatically.

“Go potty and wash our hands,” Sallie said without missing a beat. “Your mommy will let us go to the playground.”

DJ clapped.

“I Daisy. Who you?”

“I’m Mommy’s friend Sallie.”

I watched her skip off hand in hand with the twins, my stomach squiggling with the usual stupid worries. Did she know to take both children into the stall with her? To make sure DJ aimed up, not down? To wait for Daisy at the bottom of the slide?

More than an hour later, Sallie brought the twins back. The market crowd had thinned. I was out of singles, out of bread, almost out of fresh chèvre.

“Sorry we took so long,” Sallie said breezily. “We stopped for cookies. I hope that’s okay.”

I looked at my babies. Daisy held on to Sallie with one hand, the other rubbing her eyes. DJ’s head rested in the crook of Sallie’s neck, his thumb creeping toward his crumb-streaked mouth. They looked tired. Grubby. Happy.