Had she been a little smarter, she would have instituted a probation period. Then she would have seen that he would only get so far before he stopped short, but she’d met him toward the end of the window of years when—according to the Life Plan she had created as a college freshman—it was time to get married. Thus what should have been just a poorly chosen boyfriend at most, became not only her husband but the man who fathered her child—something that was not on her Life Plan at all, but had penciled itself in of its own accord when her back was turned. She was glad that it had, of course; Adam was her dream child, so smart and determined. He reminded her of herself when she was young, but with all the advantages of a two-parent home.

She still had hopes that Grant would get his life back on track now that they had moved. His job in Rosslyn had potential, and he might meet new, more ambitious friends if he was in the play. Then he could finally let his old friends go. He was still quite involved with them, texting or calling one or another of them incessantly. How many times a day did he look at his phone and burst out laughing? There was Dave, the insurance agent with the poly-blend shirts and the goatee; Pete, the smarmy restaurant manager who was always giving her the eye; and chubby little box-jawed Marie. She was in love with him, obviously, but Suzanne had seen pictures of Grant’s continuous string of girlfriends in high school and college, all tall and pretty. Marie would have had to come to terms with the fact that they would never be more than friends years ago.

“I like your house,” Suzanne said, returning to the present. It was like a fairy-tale cottage, small and cozy and full of books.

“I grew up here,” Ted said.

“I grew up in an apartment,” Suzanne said.

“I always thought elevators were exciting when I was a kid.”

“Ours broke a lot.”

Adam climbed up the porch steps and plunked himself down on Suzanne’s lap.

“Hi, little fellow.”

“Can Grammy come this weekend?”

She fingered the scarf on his head. Silk. “Are you playing pirate?”

“Allison put it on me. For my headache. Can Grammy come, Mommy?”

“You have a headache?”

Jillian jumped up the steps and grabbed a cookie from the plate. She was a wholesome-looking kid with freckles and straight brown hair, a human Peppermint Patty. Suzanne searched for the resemblance to her parents. Perhaps a bit more of Ted. Eyebrows that she would eventually want to pluck. Ted’s wide, expressive mouth. Straight hair in contrast to Allison’s curly. Jillian twisted her arms around one another, like a pretzel, then unwrapped them and twisted them the other way. “Come back out, Adam. It’s boring.”