Page 58 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

I sit there, hands wrapped around my coffee, staring at absolutely nothing.

Then I look down at my phone.

Still face down, there, capable of ruining my mood if I let it.

I slide it into my bag.

Nope, not today.

Today I’m in Chicago, I have a job, and I’m feeding a child grilled cheese in a café with toy blocks, and accidentally making new friends.

Bryce can go be emotionally aerodynamic somewhere else.

I take another sip of coffee.

Then glance toward Oliver, who’s now absolutely thriving.

“Okay,” I murmur to myself. “Maybe this city doesn’t hate me after all.”

By the time Oliver has finished his grilled cheese, half his hot chocolate, and whatever deeply serious construction project he was running in the toy corner, he's much happier.

Which is lucky, because I'm now invested in keeping him that way.

“Did you have fun?” I ask as I wipe a tiny milk mustache off his face with a napkin.

He tolerates this with the grim dignity of a child already inconvenienced by adulthood. “Yes.”

“Good. Because I needed this to go well for my self-esteem.”

He nods. “The grilled cheese was good.”

“I’m thrilled. Truly.”

I stand and gather our things. “Say goodbye to the blocks.”

He looks back once, like a man leaving a great love behind. “Goodbye.”

We head for the door.

As we pass the counter, Sophie lifts a hand. “See you around, airport trauma girl.”

I grin. “See you around, coffee psychic.”

Oliver looks between us. “Do you know her?”

“Now I do,” I say.

He seems to accept this as one of the many confusing but inevitable realities of adult life.

Outside, it’s cooler now, the afternoon softening toward evening. The city shines a little at the edges.

We cross back toward the building.

“Did you like the café?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Good. I feel like it may become part of our survival plan.”