So baby girl feels better now, the text said. Unfortunately, she feels better because she threw up all over me. And your couch. It fought the good fight though.

“She threw up, all over George’s fancy Italian shirt. Maybe send chocolates and flowers,” I said. “And let’s definitely get it all to go.”

There are moments when you definitely know life has a sense of humor, when you swear that someone is up there screwing with you. My phone went off again, sending my silverware clanging across the table. I reached for it as the waiter picked Max’s plate back up, at the exact same moment the person next to us stood, pushing out their chair. I grabbed for my phone, the chair collided with the waiter, and Max’s plate of white cream sauce went tumbling . . . into his lap.

Water was everywhere, across the tablecloth, inside my phone, and all over Max’s pants, where a wet, creamy mixture now lay steaming. I scrambled back from the chaos, my eyes wide with horror. A child next to us burst into tears, and I looked over at Max and the enormous mess in his lap.

“It’s fine,” he assured me, grabbing a napkin and wiping his pants.

My phone buzzed on the table with another picture from George.

I sat down, shaking. “This is a disaster. I just want to get home to my baby.” I paused as Max dabbed at his pants again and looked down at my chest, my neck and cheeks flushing with humiliation, “Oh, shit.”

When Max looked up and realized my milk had let down and soaked through my red dress, creating two big, wet circles, I could tell he was done.

Tossing a few twenties onto the table, he stood and helped me up, wrapping me in his coat. “Let’s go home.”

I tucked into his side and strode beside him quickly, wordlessly, until we got outside, where I couldn’t help but start laughing madly. “We could have had cereal for dinner in our pajamas!”

“Fucking too right,” he growled, handing the valet the ticket for our car. Protectiveness and frustration rolled off him in waves. “Giant bowl of Froot Loops and—”

“Sir,” the valet interrupted, glancing at the number. His face was ashen. “Our deepest apologies, but I need to let you know there’s been a slight accident . . .”

I could hear Anna crying from the elevator and immediately knew George hadn’t been able to get her to take a bottle.

Sara took off, running to the door and fumbling with her keys before I was able to take them from her and let her in. Just inside, George handed her the baby and—correctly reading Sara’s expression—insisted, “She’s okay, she’s okay, she just woke up and wouldn’t take the bottle. She had one earlier.”

It wouldn’t matter to know that she’d eaten not long before. Sara thanked George in a panicked whisper and took the baby into the nursery to feed her.

“Did you have an accident?” George nodded to my pants.

I looked away from where Sara had disappeared down the hall. “A waiter did, just before Sara had one, just before the valet introduced my car to a concrete pillar.”

“A brilliant night, really.” Only when I looked up at him again did I register what he was wearing. “Is that my shirt?”

George ran his hands to his hips. “It’s more of a dress on me.” He pulled the extra material into his fists. “I almost used one of Sara’s scarves as a belt.”

“Sorry about that,” I mumbled, suddenly hit with a debilitating wave of exhaustion. “I swear there are times she throws up more than I think she’s eaten.”

“Not a thing, I swear. It was so much better than that time my date threw up on me, because at least Anna cuddles afterward.”

“Thanks, mate. Taking care of the baby tonight was bloody generous of you.”

George patted my shoulder. “I’ll leave you to it. Tell Sara I’ll see her next week?”

After I closed the door behind him, I threw my trousers in the washing machine and went down the hall to the nursery, sitting in my usual spot on the soft carpet near the rocking chair. “How’s my girl?”

I licked my lips, studying her face. She’d relaxed almost as soon as she had our baby in her arms. “I meant my wife.”

Her enormous brown eyes met mine and narrowed as she laughed. “I’m fine, too.”

She looked back down at the baby and sang quietly, stroking Anna’s cheek with her thumb. I watched Anna’s small hand reach up blindly, finding and squeezing Sara’s index finger. Reaching forward, I curled my hand around my wife’s ankle and closed my eyes.

I couldn’t hear anything but Sara’s quiet humming and our daughter’s little baby noises. Our world was infinitely better and we had to come to terms with the fact that, at least for the time being, it was so much smaller.

A hand on my shoulder startled me awake. The floor of the nursery, I’d fallen asleep on the floor of the nursery . . .

Looking up, I was greeted by the sight of Sara in a tiny lace bra that pushed her tits up and together until they nearly spilled from the cups. My gaze traveled south and snagged on her minuscule matching thong.

“New pajamas?” I asked, pushing up onto an elbow.