Page 88 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

“We are.”

“You’re standing in front of me looking like someone who got professionally kissed by a tax bracket.”

“That isn't a real sentence.”

“It should be.”

I hate that I’m laughing. I hate that she’s funny. I hate that she’s saying things I don't want said out loud because they feel too true once they exist in air.

So I do what any mature, emotionally regulated woman would do.

I change the subject badly.

“Anyway,” I say, too brightly, “what about you?”

Sophie narrows her eyes. “Coward.”

“Massive.”

She hums, but mercifully lets it go. “Fine. I work too much, my roommate steals my oat milk, and last month I went on a date with a man who said he was ‘spiritually between careers,’ which turned out to mean unemployed and in possession of a podcast microphone.”

I gasp. “No.”

“Yes.”

“That’s devastating.”

“I survived.”

I press my hand to my chest. “You’re very brave.”

“I know.”

And just like that, the conversation loosens.

It becomes easy.

We talk while she works, and I hover. About Chicago, neighborhoods, bad dates, her ex who once tried to win her back with an edible arrangement, Luci and her deeply insane life choices, how hard it is to make new friends as an adult, and the horrifying cost of rent in any city where people say things like ‘artisanal’ casually.

She tells me she grew up outside the city, moved here for school, and never really left. I tell her about bouncing between jobs, nannying families who ranged from lovely to deeply deranged, and how my sister once got banned from a bowling alley for “attitude reasons,” which is still one of the funniest phrases I’ve ever heard.

At one point, Oliver wanders back over, climbs onto the stool beside me, and announces to Sophie, “Addy talks to Captain like he’s a person.”

Sophie glances at me. “She seems smart.”

“I am,” I say.

Oliver frowns thoughtfully. “Captain doesn’t answer.”

“That's because he's mysterious.”

Captain, hearing his name, trots over and immediately puts his chin in my lap.

“See?” I say to Sophie. “He understands me emotionally.”

“That’s honestly more than can be said for most men.”

“Exactly.”