Oh, I would have thought further along than that.
“I’m huge.” She exhales. “Baby number four. My stomach is stretched to the shit. It’s like a fucking tent in there.”
Claire hushes her. “It will bounce back.”
Jeez.
Jameson stretches out and puts his arm across the back of Emily’s chair as he talks to the boys. His finger traces a circle on her shoulder.
“Everyone’s babies are so close.” I smile.
“Too close.” Emily rolls her eyes. “Jameson wants the diaper stage over as quick as possible.”
“Makes sense.”
“How do you like New York?” Claire smiles warmly.
“It’s . . .” I shrug.
“It’s a lot to take on,” she whispers.
Emily reaches over and takes my hand in hers. “We were the same.”
They know.
“Tell me this gets easier.”
They exchange looks and laughs. “Oh, sweetie,” Claire says. “It doesn’t, but you do get used to it.”
I force a smile.
“Dad,” Patrick says across the table.
Tristan keeps talking to Jameson and Christopher.
“Dad.”
He still doesn’t hear him.
“Dad.”
Tristan keeps talking.
“Dad.”
“Dad’s talking, Patrick,” Claire says. “Use your manners, please.”
“Excuse me, Dad!” he screams.
The whole table stops talking, and Tristan looks across the table, startled. “Yes, Patrick, what is it?”
“I want fries tonight.”
Tristan looks at him deadpan and sips his beer. “That’s great, buddy. You do that.”
Jameson chuckles, and I try not to smile. It’s obvious the boys are pretty full on.
We chat, and we laugh, and this isn’t what I expected at all.
Harry reaches over and knocks his drink over. It spills all over the table, and Tristan reaches over and mops it up with a napkin as he talks, totally unfazed.
Dinner comes, and we eat as we talk. It’s delicious.
They all make me feel so welcome, and the conversation isn’t forced at all.
Patrick reaches over and knocks his drink over too. Tristan rolls his eyes. “Fuck me dead,” he mouths to Jameson, who is chuckling again.
“Jay.” Emily rubs her chest. “I’m getting angina.”
“That makes two of us,” Tristan mutters dryly as he mops up the mess. “You keep that baby inside of you, Anderson. I’ve got enough on my plate out here.”
“Table,” Jameson corrects him.
I giggle as I watch. Everyone is laughing and talking through the messy chaos, and nobody is batting an eyelid.
I glance across the table to Christopher; his eyes hold mine, and he gives me the best come-fuck-me look of all time.
The air crackles between us as we stare at each other.
Him, his family, these kids . . . the night went well.
Christopher opens the front door and pulls me into the apartment. “Do you want a drink or anything?”