“Where’s the ex?” I ask, curious about the friend I’ve long lost touch with.

“A flight attendant, I believe. Travels a lot so he takes care of their son. She has him whenever she’s home, but I rarely see her pick him up from daycare.” I continue to watch her. “What?”

I shake my head.

“I was talking about a playdate with his son. You’re the one making this into a date.”

“I didn’t say anything about a date. You did.” Now, I’m glaring.

“Stop with the big brother act,” she replies, narrowing her eyes.

“It’s not an act.”

For a third time, she rolls her eyes as my niece comes running into the room. “Uncie, come pway!” Vivian yells, throwing herself at my leg and attaching to it like a twenty-pound spider monkey.

And that’s how I spend the next hour, crawling around on the floor, wearing a pink tiara and a dozen dangly necklaces. My sister takes pictures, probably to use for blackmail down the road, and my parents laugh, but I don’t give a shit. I have the best afternoon with my niece, playing and making her giggle.

When it’s finally time for her nap, she throws her tiny arms around my neck, kisses my scruffy cheek, and tells me she “woves me.” I never really thought too much about the future (outside of expanding and growing the hardware store), but after spending a little time with Vivian, I’ll admit that tiny seed has been planted. My mom just sat there and smiled, probably already picturing another dozen little grandkids running around the house, and for the first time, I don’t feel myself starting to sweat at the idea.

Now, it doesn’t seem so bad.