Nick comes walking in with an open Champagne bottle.

“I figured you like Thai food since I saw the delivery menu in the kitchen drawer,” he says. “I had to guess at what to order, though.” He chuckles. “I waited at the door because I was afraid the doorbell would ring at exactly the wrong time.”

“I can’t believe you did this! It’s amazing!”

“I dialed the number on the menu,” he laughs. “I didn’t cook it myself. Any ten-year-old could produce the same meal, if they can pronounce ‘tom yam goong.’”

“Ten-year-olds can’t pop a Champagne cork, though,” I say, accepting a glass, “and Holly is not allowed to light candles until she is twenty. At least.”

“All three of my children could open a Champagne bottle properly by age eight. No big pops. Just a tiny puff of air. We just have to teach her to point the cork away from her face.”

That “we” hangs there in the air for a moment.

“Let’s eat,” I suggest. I kneel on the floor and pull open the paper bags. Inside are six appetizers and four main course dishes in plastic containers.

“Are we expecting other people?” I ask, confused.

“I wanted to be sure there was something you liked.”

I look in his eyes, and a smile spreads across my face.

“There’s definitely something I like.”

And the food is good, too.

Eventually I lay down my chopsticks, unable to take another bite. Nick stands and picks up our plates.

“No, no!” I protest, unfolding my legs and trying to get up from the floor. “I’ll clear. You’ve done everything so far!”

“Sorry,” he says. “House rule is that mothers of children under three months do not wait on adults. I’ll be right back.”

“But it’s my house!”

“But it’s my rule,” he smiles.

“Wish you had explained that rule to Charlotte,” is all I can say. But I settle back down and enjoy the luxury of being taken care of, just for one night. I am stuffed. Content. As Nick leaves the room, I let myself fall backwards on the carpet, the food and wine and warmth all washing over me.

* * *

Nick is seated on my sofa, reading on his iPad. I’m looking up at him from an odd angle. Why?

He notices me. “Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey,” I answer, sitting up stiffly. “Oh no—I fell asleep? I am so sorry!”

“Nothing to be sorry about. You’re exhausted. Come up here.” He touches the sofa next to him, shifting to wrap his arms around me as I sit. He rests his chin on top of my head.

“Soon she’ll sleep through the night. And then she’ll be a teenager, and she’ll sleep till one in the afternoon, and you’ll be trying to wake her up all the time. Every stage has its challenges. As soon as you figure one stage out, they pass through it, and you have to figure out the next one.”

“And you did it alone too. With three of them.”

“Yes, and only two hands.” He chuckles.

“What was the hardest part?”

“Oh, without a doubt, the times when there was supposed to be a mother on the scene. You know, school events, proms, awards. Milestone things. My parents would come sometimes, but it wasn’t the same.”

“Your parents?” I realize I don’t know much about Nick, but I did date his brother.

“My dad died a few years ago,” he explains.

“Oh!” A memory of Charlie’s parents flickers through me. Norm was a tall, lean guy with big hands who spent a lot of time doing woodwork in their garage. Their mother, Celia, was a tough-as-nails kindergarten teacher. “I’m so sorry. What about your mom?”

“Retired. Lives in Florida now.”

“Sounds like they really helped you when the kids were little.”

He shrugs.

I turn and look at him, heartbreak on my face.

“Will it be like that for Holly? Will she miss having a dad terribly?”

The contemplative way that he takes his time before answering is endearing, and it makes me listen carefully. “To be honest, I think it was a lot harder on me than on the kids. For them, it was kind of normal. But as a parent, you just can’t stand for anyone to hurt your child. And I had a lot of anger towards Simone that I had to keep hidden.”

A quiet moment passes, as I think about what he’s told me. This exceptional man.

“I think it’s going to be a little easier for you and Holly. I think there’s more of an understanding now that families look different in many ways, but it’s only the love that matters.”

He picks something up from the floor beside him.

“You started to open this earlier, but you didn’t finish. It’s for Holly.”

He looks so excited, like it’s a gift for him. I separate the tissue paper in the bag and find a flat gift. I pull off the wrapping paper and see that it’s a children’s book with a bright cover featuring an illustration of a little girl and a big dog. The little girl is holding her nose.

“Walter, the Farting Dog,” I read aloud.

I look at Nick.

I am speechless.

“I know I said ‘no princesses,’” I begin, “but...”

He’s shaking with laughter.

“Best. Children’s. Book. Ever.” he manages. “This book got me through story time for years. I can’t wait to read it again.”

“But...” I begin.

“Listen to this!” he interrupts me. “Backstory—”

“Backstory? A children’s book with backstory?”

“Yes! That’s why this is the greatest children’s book known to man. Poor Walter got depressed and ate a twenty-five pound bag of low-fart dog biscuits.”

I’m trying to follow this. I really am.

“Low-fart dog biscuits?” I ask, eyebrows hitting the moon. Note to self: time to get threaded.

“And poor Walter tries to hold in his gas, but then burglars arrive. So he lets it go.” Nick picks up the book and points to the page, trying to read. The man is shaking so hard from laughing that he can’t speak.

“Ah,” I say. I am really trying to understand.

“Look at this picture!” He points to an illustration of a dog actually farting on a veterinarian, who is peering into the dog’s, uh… backside. Tears are now running down Nick’s cheeks.