I throw on a pair of briefs, race out of the bathroom still wet from my shower, and leap onto the bed next to Kat, careful not to crush Gracie’s blonde head as she sleeps at Kat’s breast.
“There he is!” Kat shrieks, pointing with excitement at the TV.
I look at the television screen and, I’ll be damned, yep, there he is: Will “2Real” Riley, holding a microphone and launching into a beastly performance of his monster hip-hop hit, “Crash” onSaturday Night Live.“Oh my God!” Kat shrieks. “Look at him! He’skillingit!”
“I feel electrified justwatchinghim,” I say. “I can’t imagine how he must feel.”
“Did you know Will wasthisamazing?”
“I had no idea,” I say. “He was so funny and chill when we hung out with him. Who knew?”
“I guess we were hanging out withWill, not ‘2Real,’ huh?” Kat says.
“Indubitably,” I say.
We sit and watch Will’s entire performance, completely mesmerized, and when it’s over, we cheer and clap like we’re sitting in the live audience.
I grab my phone off the nightstand and quickly shoot a text to Reed. “Just watched your boy on SNL,” I write. “HE KILLED IT. Tell him congrats from Mr. and Mrs. Faraday and Little G.” I put my phone back on the nightstand. “Jesus, between 2Real and Red Card Riot this past year, Reed’s absolutely slaying it.”
“God, I sure hope his streak continues into next year when Daxy’s album comes out,” Kat says.
“Reed sure thinks it will. He told me just the other day he smells a smash hit.”
“Which song?”
“Reed predicts ‘People Like You and Me’ will be the break-out first single.”
“That’s my favorite, too,” Kat says.
Out of nowhere, Gracie busts out with an ear-piercing wail.
“Oh my goodness, little lady,” Kat says, opening a flap on her nursing nightgown and pulling out her engorged boob. “No need to scream, for crying out loud. I’m right here.” She sticks Gracie on her nipple and Gracie immediately latches on and starts gulping down milk in hungry swallows. “Wowza, can this kid eat,” Kat says, looking down at Gracie’s little face.
I lay my palm on the top of Gracie’s soft head as she suckles and stroke her white-blonde peach fuzz. “She’s passionate about eating, that’s for sure,” I say softly. “Aren’t you, my little angel?”
Kat rolls her eyes. “Don’t kid yourself by calling her an angel. We both know she’s a demon spawndisguisedas an angel.”
“No. She’s justpassionate, like I say—she simply knows what she wants. Nothing wrong with that.” I continue gently stroking Gracie’s soft head. “Isn’t that right, Mademoiselle Terrorist? You’re justassertive,that’s all.”
Kat looks down at Gracie’s face as she nurses. “Mark my words, she’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing, I’m telling you, babe. She’s gonna be bossing you around in no time.”
“Good. I’ve always liked ’em sassy,” I say. “Don’t worry, I know just how to handle her.”
We share a smile.
“So what do you wanna do for your birthday in a couple weeks, honey?” Kat asks. “After three months of being marooned in Babyville, are you in the mood to break out of our baby-bondage and paint the town red?”
I lean down and nuzzle my nose into Gracie’s soft hair for a long moment, breathing in her scent. “Not really,” I say softly. “I’m happy to stay home this year. Why don’t we do the romantic-dinner-thing I’d originally planned for the night you poker-chipped me with Bridgette?”
“You sure? Thirty-one’s a biggie.”
I chuckle. “Thirty-one is meaningless.”
“Bite your tongue. You didn’t think you’d make it to thirty, remember? And now you’re gonna be thirty-one. That’s a big deal.”
I make a face like maybe she’s got a point.
“You sure you don’t wanna get freaky-deaky and do something really wild and crazy to celebrate your unexpected old age?”
