She laughed and said, “You don’t even know what I was asking.”

“A playdate?”

“Mind reader.”

The other line beeped, and I said, “Hold on.”

It was Kate, checking in. “What’s up?”

I told her the truth: that Anna had called with an invitation.

She was quiet for a time. “Do the boys want to go?”

Had I even asked the boys? “Yes, all excited,” I said. So much for truth.

“Well, then. Dress them warm, it’s very cold out.”

After hanging up, I went to get the boys ready, only to find they had no interest in going over to Sophie’s. They wanted to be in their house with their toys. I was usually able to bribe Teddy, so I offered a quarter if he cooperated and a dollar if he could get his brother to fall in line. But Sam didn’t want to go. He refused to get dressed. He tensed his little body, clenching his small hands into tight fists. He fought walking down the stairs, so I carried him. “No, we’re going, Sam, and we’re going to have fun.” He kicked and squirmed while I strapped him into his stroller. I thought he’d calm down once we got moving, but no, he pressed against the safety belt, his face red with rage. Teddy trailed along as we pushed across the Heights. I’d been so preoccupied with Sam that I hadn’t noticed Teddy’s bottom lip begin to quiver. Somewhere between Montague Street and Clark, Teddy defected. I crouched down, took both of them by the arm, squeezed more firmly than I’d have liked, and hissed, “What about what I want!” Teddy cried out, “Daddy, you’re scaring me!” Sam was howling, saying something about wishing Mommy was there.

I turned us around, and we went back home. Inside, the boys were inconsolable. They continued to scream and cry until they finally fell asleep in Kate’s and my bed.

I sat on the edge of the mattress and just looked at them. I’d hurt Kate, and now I was hurting our kids. What else would have to happen? That was when I knew it had to stop. The question was how. I could’ve been classier about it, but here’s what I did: I went cold turkey. I cut Anna out immediately. That afternoon I didn’t call to cancel the playdate. The messages she left over the next several days were immediately erased and phone calls never returned. Because I knew her routines, where she shopped and where she walked, I was able to avoid Anna Brody for two weeks.

Then, the day before Christmas, and in an effort to get Kate her favorite organic milk, I ventured over to Garden of Eden, where—fuck!—I bumped into Anna Brody in the produce section.

She saw me first, came up behind me, and said, “Tim, is everything all right?”