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She sips her drink. I bartended through college—it made me very particular about my poison.

I frown. I think my feelings are hurt. That’s a f**ked-up thing to say.She shrugs. Doesn’t make it any less true.

I sigh. And decide on a more subversive course of action. Then I’ll just go make that bowl of cereal.Kate watches me as I get up. Then softly calls to my retreating back, Stay away from the nursery, Drew—don’t even look at the door.I neither agree nor disagree. Even though Kate and I have been together for years, loopholes still apply. I enter the kitchen, grab the milk out of the fridge, and pour myself a bowl Lucky Charms. I take two bites and—

Did you hear that? It sounded like a baby’s cry, didn’t it?Then I recommend you get your hearing checked, ’cause I definitely heard it.

I slip through the kitchen door and stealthily make my way down the hall to the nursery. The door is cracked a few inches—just wide enough to stick my head in. The night-light casts a warm glow on the dark wood furniture, rocking chair, and stuffed animals stacked in the corner. I listen. And all I hear is the sound of James’s deep, rhythmic baby breathing.

Guess it wasn’t a cry I heard, after all. But . . . since I’m here and all, it won’t hurt to have a peek, right? Right.The music on the infomercial changes. And now it’s Against All Odds—a song about a guy who has so much to say to a girl, but she just won’t turn around and let him.

You know, somebody must’ve really screwed Phil Collins over. Big-time.I sing a few of the lyrics ’cause it’s just you and me here. And for an eighties song, it’s pretty good.

And—oh look—Total Eclipse of the Heart just came on. Completing the trifecta of spirit-crushing, why-don’t-you-just-kill-yourself eighties tunes.Excuse me while I go slit my wrists in the bathroom.

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