Page 31 of Dropping the Ball

“Daisy is a pretty great cat,” Oliver says. “We get it.”

The new parents eat their dinners in record time, but Harper starts making small sounds of distress before they finish.

Kaitlyn looks at me, and I get the feeling she’s trying to stay calm. “What do I do?” she asks in a low voice.

I want to have the answer, but I have no idea. “Maybe like . . .” I make an up-and-down motion with my hands.

“Weigh her like a melon?” Kaitlyn asks.

“Bounce her?” I say.

“She wants to eat,” Madison says, pushing away the hospital table with her tray on it.

I surge to my feet. That’s my cue to exit. “I’ll leave you to it. Kaitlyn, let me know when you want to reschedule our meeting.”

“Why would we reschedule?” she asks. “I didn’t have a baby.”

“Right.” I feel kind of dumb. “So Tuesday then?”

Oliver is coming over to take the baby from her. “Youdidn’thave a baby, and you don’t have to stay here. Go home and get some sleep.”

Kaitlyn yawns, then stands as well. “You’re right. I will. Except . . .”

“Your car is at work,” Madison finishes.

Kaitlyn is reaching into the pocket of her sweat pants for her phone. “I’ll get a Lyft.”

“I can take you to your car.”

She yawns again and shakes her head. “No, too tired for that.”

“I can take you home if that’s easier,” I say.

“You don’t know where I live.”

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t have to be anywhere right now.”

“Go with Micah,” Oliver says. “That way you don’t fall asleep in a random rideshare.”

“Barton Hills,” she says, naming a wealthy part of town. “That’s where I live.”

Interesting. That’s more family homes, not young professionals. “No problem. I’ll go pull my truck around to the entrance.”

A few minutes later, we’re on the road, Kaitlyn’s address punched into my navigation system, but it’s dead quiet in the car because she’s out like a light. I’m not sure I’d even made it outof the parking lot before she slumped against the window, sound asleep.

I smile and focus on the road. It’s a twenty-minute drive, and she doesn’t stir once. When I turn into her neighborhood, I’m glad she’s not awake because she can’t see my surprise. I’ve been around wealthy people my whole life, but these homes have to be at least three thousand square feet each, on quarter- to half-acre lots. Even for rich people, it’s unusual for someone our age to live in a house like these. But sure enough, the GPS prompts me to turn into the driveway of a house that could comfortably fit three families.

I park and cut the engine. “Kaitlyn.”

She still doesn’t stir.

I try again, louder. “Hey, Kaitlyn.”

Nothing. She’s so out of it, I’d worry except she lets out a muted snore. She’d be furious if she knew I heard it, but it’s pretty cute.

How do I wake her without startling her? I decide to rock her awake, which means rocking in my seat to shake the truck. Given the number of times in high school I would have loved to be guilty of scandalous behavior in a car with Kaitlyn, it’s ironicthisis why we’ve finally set one to rocking.

It works. Her forehead scrunches in her sleep as she shifts to find a new position.

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