Dirk was in the process of making a margarita for Owen, ice clattering in the blender. With his attention occupied I had an opportunity to study him. He was tall, compared with his brother, over six feet while Neil topped out closer to my height at five-feet-seven. His hair was sandy, lightly dusted with gray. He was lean, an ectomorph, where Neil's build was stocky. Blue eyes, white lashes, a good-size nose. He glanced over at me and I dropped my gaze discreetly to Meg. He wore chinos and a navy short-sleeved shirt that revealed the light downy hair along his forearms. His teeth were good and his smile seemed sincere. On a scale of 1 to 10 – 10 being Harrison Ford – I'd place him at 8, or maybe even 8 plus plus.

He moved to the counter where I was standing and helped himself to a canapé. We chatted idly, exchanging the sort of uninspired questions and answers that tend to pass between strangers. He told me he was visiting from New York, where he worked as an architect, designing residential and commercial structures. I told him what I did and how long I'd done it. He feigned more interest than he probably felt. He told me he and Neil had three other brothers, of which he was the second from the bottom of the heap. Most of the family, he said, was scattered up and down the East Coast with Neil the lone holdout in California. I told him I was an only child and let it go at that.

Eventually, Neil and Vera came downstairs. She took the baby and settled on the couch. Vera fiddled with her shirt, popped a boob out, and began to breast-feed while Owen and I made a point of looking somewhere else. Eventually several other couples arrived. There were introductions all around as each new twosome was incorporated. The kitchen was gradually taken up with guests, standing in small groups, some spilling into the hallway and out onto the deck. When the babysitter arrived, Vera took Meg upstairs and returned wearing a different shirt. The noise level rose. Owen and I were separated by the crowd, which was all right with me as I'd run out of things to say to him.

I made an effort to be friendly, chitchatting with any poor soul who caught my eye. Everyone seemed nice enough, but social gatherings are exhausting to someone of my introverted nature. I endured it as long as I could and then eased toward the foyer where I'd left my shoulder bag. Good manners dictated that I say thank you and goodbye to host and hostess, but neither were in sight and I thought it'd be expedient to tiptoe away without calling attention to my escape.