Chapter 23: Five and Three Quarters

On Saturday morning I learned that my children believed in a birthday that did not exist.

"It's our five-and-three-quarters birthday," Teddy told me at breakfast. "Ivy says it counts."

"Your real one is in January."

"We couldn't wait," Ivy said. "We have a lot to celebrate. There's been a lot of news."

"What news?"

"We got a dad," said Rory, with his mouth full of toast. "We got a grandma with a house. We got a dog."

"The dog was already Rafe's."

"She's ours now," Rory said, and looked so smug that I let it go.

Rafe had come at eight with a box of doughnuts and a look of terrible innocence.

He kept his eyes on his coffee while the children took turns kicking him under the table.

"Rafe," I said. "What's happening at six o'clock?"

"A party."

"What kind of party?"

"I've been told not to say."

"By whom?"

"By all of them." He gestured at the table with his cup. "They've got a clipboard."

Ivy lifted the clipboard off her lap and held it against her chest.

"Confidential," she said.

At two, Rafe's mother arrived with my mother, in the same car, with two garment bags and a box of hairpins.

"Absolutely not," I said.

"You're the guest of honor," said my mother. "Sit."

I sat.

The two of them worked on me for an hour in my bedroom, pinning, zipping and arguing, while the children were sent to the yard with Rafe.

I could hear them through the window.

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