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“Thanks for coming, cute stuff!” She wraps her arms around Vic and squeezes tight. “This is the best turn out we’ve gotten at one of these.”

“Of course! I love that for you!” She points to me. “This is my best friend, Reya. Reya, this is Amanda from my yoga class. We actually have the same due date.”

“March first?” I ask cautiously, because I might not be so sure that’s the date. Vic has told me a hundred times at this point.

It’s a leap year, so the odds are good that one of these children isn’t going to have another birthday for the next three years if I’m right.

“Initially, yep.” She nods. “It’s looking like little Caleb is going to be ready sooner than that now.”

I quickly look at Vic and she smirks.

What are the odds? Why can’t I escape?

“Caleb?” I ask, gesturing towards her belly. She puts her hand over it.

“After his grandpa.” That huge smile is back on her face, despite the fact that I’m sure I look ill.

There are too many Caleb’s in the world. I’ll never escape.

“How exciting,” I manage to say. “It was nice to meet you, but I am desperately in need of a soda.”

Maybe even something a little stronger, given the hoarse voice currently belting out the wrong words over the speakers. My eyes land on the bar.

“Great to meet you, too! I’ll see you both up there!”

She gives Vic a friendly pat on the shoulder before turning away.

Vic bursts into laughter as soon as we start walking.

“Yikes.”

“I thought you might feel that way.”

“That reminds me,” I tell her as we sit on a couple of stools. The bartender looks overwhelmed, so it’s a good thing we’repatient people. Actually, Vic is the patient one, and it makes me want to do better whenever I’m around her. I try not to let my leg shake too aggressively while we wait. “I have a date with his new girlfriend coming up.”

She shakes her head.

“I know you hate the guy, but you can’t go stealing his girlfriend. You’re supposed to be peacefully co-parenting.”

My jaw drops.

“Not adatedate, wow Vic. I’m going to pretend you don’t think I would stoop that low.”

“You called it a date, what else am I supposed to think?”

“I call everything a date. This is a date right now,” I say, pointing between us.

“Don’t tell my husband that.”

I tilt my head to look at her through my lashes.

“Your husband loves me, he’d be happy for us.”

“Maybe,” she admits with a shrug. “But he’d still be a little jealous.”

I notice the woman working finally make her way down to us and I give her my best smile. The kind that says,‘I also work in customer service, and I know your pain, and we will be the easiest customers you have to deal with all night:’

“What are we drinking tonight?” she asks us in a husky voice. The kind of voice I bet makes her lots of tips. The kind of voice I wouldn’t mind bossing me around.