“Chloe, let me up. It’s an emergency,” a feminine voice came through.
“Blair?”
“Chloe, open up. I need you!” The woman sounded frantic.
She hit the button to release the door and turned to him. “It’s one of my best friends. This isn’t like her. She normally would text first.”
A couple of minutes later, there was a knock at the door, and Chloe opened it to reveal a frazzled-looking woman around his age, carrying an infant of indeterminate gender while holding the hand of what looked like a four-year-old girl.
The woman shoved the infant into Chloe’s arms and bent down to whisper to the little girl, “Why don’t you go find something to watch on Auntie Chloe’s TV while Mommy has a chat with Auntie Chloe?”
The little girl scampered off while Chloe looked at her friend askance. “Not that I don’t love seeing you and the kids, but what’s going on?”
“Mitch was in a car accident,” Blair said, tears filling her voice. “He went out to get bagels, and someone hit him. The cop I talked to said a car hopped the curb, and that’s it. I don’t even know how he is; they won’t tell me anything until I get to the hospital.” She started unloading a veritable pile of things from her arms and purse as she half babbled, half cried. “They’ve taken him to Mount Sinai West, and you were along the way. I tried calling you, but your phone kept going to voice mail, and thank God you’re home. I can’t bring the kids to the hospital! And Hazel’s on vacation, and Daniela’s at the Oscars, and Mitch’s parents are in Poughkeepsie. I need you to watch the kids until my parents get here from Jersey.”
“Of course I’ll watch them,” Chloe said, shooting an apologetic glance at Theo. “Give your parents my address and my number.” Picking up her phone, she switched it off “Do Not Disturb.” Then she gently ushered her friend out of the apartment. “Call me if anything changes.”
“I will,” Blair said. “Thank you again!”
And then she was gone.
As the door slammed closed behind her, Chloe started cataloging what Blair had left behind, gently bouncing the infant. “You don’t have to stay. I know you don’t like kids.”
That wasn’t it at all, but he couldn’t say that. Part of him wanted to run away as far and fast as possible, but another part of him knew that he would be an absolute asshole if he abandoned Chloe with a toddler and an infant. “I can stay.”
“Thanks.” She sniffed. “And I think I need to change this little man’s diaper.” She grabbed the diaper bag from the pile of things.
“Speaking of, what are the kids’ names?”
“Oh, right, yes. So this is Carter.” She held out Carter’s pudgy hand for him to shake. “He’s eight months old, and I really hope Blair has some formula in that diaper bag. Because I only have oat milk in the house, and these”—she motioned at her breasts—“are currently only for decoration.”
And wasn’t that a giant reminder that she one day wanted to have kids of her own? Kids he couldn’t provide. His heart twinged. “And the girl?” he asked to cover his emotions.
“That’s Sybil. Keep your phone away from her at all points and times. If you thought my nephew Noah was bad, Sybil is worse. The last time she got a hold of my phone, I ended up having to reassure an HBO exec. that I hadn’t lost my ability to form coherent sentences. She’s three—”
“Three and a half!” Sybil shouted from the sofa.
“Three and a half,” Chloe corrected. “And she hears everything.”
That was a hint they couldn’t sneak off for a quickie while the kids were there, and they had to watch their language. He didn’t think that her friend Blair would appreciate getting her daughter back only to discover that she’d developed a penchant for saying ass, fuck, and shit: three of his favorite words.
Just then, Carter screwed up his face and let out a wail.
“I probably should go change his diaper now,” she said, pulling her hand away from his bottom. “And get him some clean clothes. Can you and Sybil play nice?”
He glanced at Sybil. Could they? God, he hoped so. As Chloe retreated to the bedroom, he approached the waiting three-and-a-half-year-old.
“Who are you?” the child asked, staring at him with huge brown eyes.
And inwardly, he panicked. Who was he? How was he supposed to answer? “I’m a friend of your Aunt Chloe’s,” he tried.
She nodded. “So who are you?”
Hadn’t he just answered that? “My name is Theo. Your mommy asked Auntie Chloe and me to look after you and your brother.”
“Okay!”
He’d expected that to be harder. He looked at the TV screen to see an animated cat or—was it a tiger?—on it, singing a song about counting to four. “Can you tell me what we’re watching?” he asked.
