I took a deep breath, as if preparing to down a foul-tasting shot. Here we go.
“Um, not great. Could be worse, I guess. About the same as Kira,” I lied. “I’m still pretty tired but I know it’ll get better soon. She’s still so little.” I wasn’t sure why I felt so defensive, not just of myself, but of Clara, too.
“It definitely will,” Vanessa assured me. “Totally normal for babies not to be sleeping through the night when they’re this young.” Thanks, woman whose baby is sleeping through the night.
After thirty more minutes of commiserating mixed in with a bit of poorly disguised boasting （enough about the rolling, already, Selena）， I was ready for wine and hoped I wasn’t the only one.
As though I’d said this aloud, Selena piped up with, “Where are we taking these children for happy hour today? Who’s in? Also,” she added as she wrestled Miles into her stroller and covered him with a fleece elephant blanket against the October chill, “I hope Isabel is okay—really strange she never showed. Text the group if anyone hears from her, okay?”
We all murmured our assent and concern. It was odd that we hadn’t at least heard from Isabel.
Vanessa couldn’t make happy hour because she had some errands to do on her day off, so it was just me, Kira, and Selena: the athleisure crew （though there was no doubt that Selena could have definitely rocked jeans if she’d wanted to）。
Our meetings had two phases: phase one, at the WSWC, where we talked about the babies, and phase two, at the bar, where our conversation tended to shift more toward the husbands.
Chapter Four
Friday, October 2
“’Cause, like, God forbid he empty a freaking dishwasher!” Kira lifted a finger into the air to hold her place in the conversation while she took a healthy slug of wine. “I am literally one handed at all times while holding Caleb, so it takes me like forty-five minutes to empty the damn thing. Not to mention the fact that I’ve seen him use a fork, put it in the dishwasher, and then three and a half minutes later take out another fork. So he is producing more than his fair share of dirty dishes. How does he think the clean dishes make their way back into the cupboards? Magic?”
We’d only been at the Viand, an upscale diner on Eighty-Fifth and Columbus, for about fifteen minutes, but we were already on our second glass, and by some miracle, all three babies were sleeping in their strollers. We’d chosen the Viand （the same Viand of the epic brownies） because we figured it would be relatively quiet at this time and there was a little alcove perfect for the strollers by the bar. Also, they had a generous pour and a very respectable wine selection.
“I swear, when I was working,” Kira went on, “Jack was actually way better about making an effort to divide household labor. Now that I’m on maternity leave, he thinks that I have all this time to pick up his dry cleaning or whatever. He actually referred to me being ‘off work’ the other day. Um, not quite! If this is supposed to feel like a vacation, I want my money back.” Kira worked in book publishing, in the kind of job that had her not only reading hundreds of manuscripts a year, but also constantly entertaining booksellers, going out to dinners with authors, and attending book launch events. She’d confided in me that, though she absolutely loved her job, she couldn’t imagine doing it now that she had a baby, and wasn’t sure when—or if—she would return.
Selena took a sip of her Chablis. “It sure as hell isn’t vacation. Cameron really does ‘try’ to pitch in, but he’s always like, ‘What can I do to help?’ and I’m like, ugh, why do I have to be task manager? Look around, dude! Do you see something that’s messy? That’d be a good place to start! But at the same time, I don’t want to be too snarky when he asks, because I do want him to help. So basically, I treat him like a child and explain things ever so patiently. And this”—she held up her glass with a smile—“is why I drink.”
I nodded with genuine understanding. Both of their grievances sounded way too familiar. “Tim is convinced that Clara doesn’t like him, which is of course ridiculous, and his solution is to basically just politely give her space until she changes her mind. But this strategy doesn’t exactly help me when I want to do stuff like, I don’t know—shower?” I was nearly done with my second glass. I knew I needed to slow it down, as Clara would need to feed again before too long. But I suddenly felt so much better, so energized.