Page 50 of The Single Dads Club
This is going to be the longest six hours of my life.
***
“Have you guys decided on a name yet?” my agent, Slate, asks, grabbing a bottle of water from the ice bucket on the counter.
It’s several nights later, and Ryleigh and I are hosting a small dinner party at our new-ish apartment in an exclusive gated neighborhood downtown. We decided we needed a little more space before the baby came. My old bachelor pad was fine for Ryleigh, Ella, and me, but that had ran its course.
Two months ago, we moved into this place, which is a few miles closer to Ella’s new school. We have a beautiful terrace overlooking the city and four thousand square feet, which is plenty big enough for all the baby dolls and Legos that currently decorate our space.
Tonight, we’re hosting a small dinner party for our close friends. Slate is here with this wife, Keaton, and their six-month-old son, Beckham. So are Weston and Jane and their twins—aka their hellions, who totally fucking take after Weston. Which sucks. For Jane. They just turned three, and yeah, I’m surprised they haven’t started a fire or killed each other by now. After being around them, I wouldn’t wish twins on my worst enemy. Beau and Bennett are fair-haired like Jane but built like Weston—bulky and too tall for their age, and extremely physical.
The only people missing from the party are our good friends Cam and Natalie. They are in Hawaii for a destination wedding for their friends Jack and Meredith, but it’s probably just as well. They are our only friends without kids, and being around all this chaos might deter them from procreating. But ever since they got married last year, all they’ve talked about is babies, so I know it’s not far off for them.
Realizing that Slate is still waiting for my reply, I shake my head. “We’re still figuring that out. We have a list.”
Slate chuckles. “Oh, I remember the list.”
Keaton elbows him. “You loved my list.”
Slate gives her a crooked grin. “You mean your spreadsheet with the color-coded tabs.”
Keaton, his wife and more analytical half, chuckles. “Yes. That. It was genius.”
“That it was,” Slate says.
“Our list is a little less sophisticated. It’s on an old takeout napkin taped to the side of the fridge.”
Ryleigh’s eyes meet mine, and her hand rests on her stomach. “We’ll figure it out. We have time.”
Jane nods and leads Ryleigh into the living room toward the couch. “You have plenty of time. We didn’t name the twins until they were three days old.”
After I check on the meal, I join the gang in the living room and settle on the couch beside Ryleigh.
Ella, the only little girl amongst the little kids, clearly rules the roost. They’re playing babies. Beau and Bennett each hold a naked baby doll in their lap as Ella gives them instructions on how to diaper them. I grin as I watch. Beside me, Weston frowns.
“Might need to get them some baby dolls,” I say.
Weston shrugs. “Jane already has. Something about gender-neutral toys.”
I nod. “Guess it makes sense. For her first birthday, I got Ella a football.”
“Along with full tackle gear,” Ryleigh adds, rolling her eyes.
“Didn’t Ella have her first day of kindergarten this week?” Jane asks. “How did that go?”
“Ugh. Awful.” Ryleigh shakes her head. “A piece of advice ... don’t let them grow up.”
“Are you sure?” Slate asks. “Because I’d kind of like to go back to sleeping through the night. That’d be fucking awesome.”
Keaton elbows him again. “I told you not to get up every time he needs his pacifier. We need to sleep-train him.” She ruffles the fuzzy brown curls on her baby son’s head as he sits perched on her knee, watching the older children play.
“Ella loves school, loves her teacher,” Ryleigh says. “But yeah, Alexei and I were both in tears when we watched her walk inside.”
I scoff. “I was not in tears.”I just had a little something in my eye is all.
Weston chuckles. “The big bad linebacker crying at school drop-off. What a puss—I mean, what a baby.”
Jabbing him in the side with my elbow, I glare at him. “Just wait until your twins start school, fucker,” I whisper, low enough that Weston hears me but the innocent little ears don’t.
