Page 44 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

“I saw Dad try to carry it.”

That, for some reason, nearly makes her laugh.

She presses her lips together instead. “Well. That's deeply invasive, but yes, it probably is.”

Oliver steps closer to inspect the suitcase as though this is a matter requiring immediate technical assessment. “What’s in it?”

“Important things,” Addy says gravely. “Clothes. Books. Possibly emotional baggage.”

He looks up at her.

There’s a brief pause.

Then, to my surprise, the corner of his mouth twitches.

“You joke a lot,” he says.

“Yes,” she replies. “It’s how I cope with the crushing weight of existence.”

Oliver thinks about that, pretending he understands every single word. “Okay.”

Captain rolls over at her feet as if in total agreement.

I watch the three of them for as long as I can without being caught.

There’s no effort in it. No strategy or manufactured warmth. Addy doesn’t attempt to charm him. She doesn’t speak to him in the exaggerated carefulness adults often use when they want a child to like them. She simply meets him where he is, which, more often than not, is what matters.

He responds to that.

So does the dog.

That should be enough to settle any remaining questions I had about this arrangement.

I still don’t trust how quickly the apartment feels different with her in it.

“Come,” I say. “I’ll show you the rest.”

She rises. Captain does the same, because apparently, this is now a group activity.

The kitchen is first.

I explain the obvious practicalities. Oliver’s schedule. School mornings. Pickup times. Preferred meals. Allergies: none. Foods he dislikes: many. Bedtime routine. Reading habits. The fact that he asks questions most adults aren’t prepared for, and dislikes being lied to, even in the form of simplification.

Addy listens properly. She moves through the kitchen as I speak, eyes tracing the details she’ll need to remember, occasionally asking questions that indicate she’s building a system in her head as she goes.

“What time is breakfast usually?”

“Seven.”

“And dinner?”

“Six thirty unless there’s an event or conflict.”

“Do you want updates during the day?”

“If necessary.”

She glances at me. “Necessary according to your standards or mine?”