Page 65 of Pretend You Love Me

I shake her hand with equal careful attention. “Elsie,” I say. “Thanks for coming. I’m sure this is…”

“Not ideal for a first meeting,” she finishes, with a smile that seems genuinely understanding. “But I’m glad to be here. Really. They’re beautiful.”

And I think, looking at her face, that she probably does mean it. Which is its own kind of complicated, the awareness that the woman standing beside my ex-husband is a person with actual feelings rather than the villain in a story I’ve been telling myself.

“They’re definitely something,” I say, and feel Maisie grab a fistful of my hair in agreement.

Daniel gravitates toward Clara, which isn’t surprising. They’ve reached a kind of civil arrangement after the custody meetings, a professional respect that comes from acknowledging each other’s competence even when you fundamentally disagree about everything else. I watch them for a moment from across the room, Clara nodding at something Daniel is saying, Daniel checking his phone, their posture relaxed in the particular way of people who have stopped expecting the worst from each other.

Jessica crosses to the low table where Maisie is now sitting with a cupcake in front of her, watching the proceedings with her usual careful assessment. She crouches beside her, not touching, just establishing her presence, and helps Maisie press one tiny finger into the icing with gentle attention. “Like that,” she says, her voice low enough that I can’t quite hear the words, just the impression of them. “Perfect.”

Maisie studies the icing on her finger with the focus of someone examining an important discovery, then looks up at Jessica with the expression that appears when she’s decided someone is worth noticing.

The moment stays between them, small and genuine and completely its own thing, and I look away, giving them the privacy of it without announcing that’s what I’m doing.

At some point during all this, Noah appears at my shoulder. Not hovering or inserting himself. Just present, the way he’s present in the moments that matter, a warm presence at my side without demanding I acknowledge it. He doesn’t say anything about Daniel. Doesn’t ask if I’m okay or if I need anything. He just places one hand at the small of my back, a light touch that asks nothing and says everything, and then bends slightly to brush his lips against the top of my head.

I feel my shoulders relax half an inch without permission, my body responding to his touch before my brain has a chance to catch up. I pick up my coffee, take a sip, and realize I’ve been holding it the entire time without drinking, my attention split between too many things to remember basic human functions.

“Better?” Noah asks, his voice low enough that only I can hear it.

I nod, not trusting my voice, and his hand stays where it is, warm and completely without agenda.

From the cupcake table, Maisie looks up and finds my face with hers. She studies me for a long moment, and then reaches one hand toward me, palm up, fingers extended in the gesture that means come here right now please.

I cross to her, already reaching for her with both hands, and feel Noah’s presence at my back, not pushing, just there, like he’s been there for months now, where he’s supposed to be.

The party continues around us, conversations rising and falling, children laughing, adults exchanging the careful small talk of people who are trying very hard to be appropriate, and through it all, I stand at the centre of the room with my daughter balanced against my hip and Noah’s hand at the small of my back, and think: this is what happens when you stop expecting the worst. The world just keeps going. And sometimes, against all odds, it goes where you need it to.

The party winds down the way these things always do, not with a definitive end but with a gradual mellowing, like a song that fades out rather than stops. Cake destruction appears on every surface, icing handprints on the windowsill, crumbs in the cushions, a perfect chocolate outline of Leo’s palm on the biography shelf that Luca notices with dramatic horror and then immediately takes pictures of. The decibel level drops by fractions. Bodies move toward the edges of the room rather than the centre. I stand by the cupcake table with a half-empty glass of prosecco and watch the afternoon settle into something quieter and more real.

In the corner armchair, Leo has passed out with a half-eaten cupcake in his hand, his face smudged with chocolate, one arm flung dramatically across his forehead as if the effort of consciousness has simply become too much to bear. Harper notices immediately, already reaching for her phone to document what she later describes as “art in its purest form.” She takes three photos from different angles before gently removing the cupcake from his loose grip, Leo not even stirring, his small chest rising and falling with the deep, even rhythm of someone who has fully surrendered to sleep.

“I should get him home,” Harper says, already reaching for her bag. “He’s been up since five talking about ‘birthday jobs’ and ‘assistant responsibilities.’ I think he’s hit his emotional limit.”

Across the room, Maisie’s face has taken on the particular slack expression that appears when she’s five minutes from unconsciousness. She’s sitting on Liv’s lap, one hand curled around her thumb, eyes blinking slower and slower until they don’t open again. Liv notices and adjusts her position so Maisie is supported against her chest and then continues her conversation with Clara and Adrian about the recent vandalism at the community garden without breaking rhythm, her body swaying slightly as she talks, like she is physically present in the conversation and also fully invested in keeping a small human asleep.

Daniel appears at the edge of my vision, already gathering his things, keys in one hand, phone in the other. He crosses to Liv first, bends slightly to kiss the top of sleeping Maisie’s head, his face softening in the particular way it does when he’s looking at the twins. “Thanks for having us,” he says, his voice pitched low. “They had a great time.”

“We’re glad you came,” I say, meaning it more than I expected to.

He nods, accepting this without pushing for more, and then crouches to where Milo is playing with wooden blocks on the floor, apparently too deep in the construction of what might be a tower or might be a bridge or might be something entirely of his own invention to notice that Daniel is leaving. “Hey, buddy,” Daniel says, his voice soft. “I’ve got to go. But I’ll see you Thursday, okay?”

Milo looks up at this, his face suddenly serious. “Da go?” he asks, the words still new enough to require concentration.

“Just for now,” Daniel says. “I’ll be back Thursday. Same as always.”

Milo considers this then nods once, apparently satisfied, and returns to his blocks. Daniel watches him for a second, before straightening and turning to me.

“Same time Thursday?” he asks, the familiar question we’ve exchanged every week for months now.

I nod. “Same time.”

He doesn’t push for more. Doesn’t ask to stay longer or take them earlier or any of the small adjustments we’ve been negotiating since the custody agreement was finalized. Just accepts the arrangement as it is, the careful balance we’ve established, and turns toward the door where Jessica is already waiting.

She raises one hand in a small wave, her expression genuine, and then they’re gone, the door closing softly behind them, not dramatic or cinematic, just the ordinary sound of a man and his girlfriend leaving a birthday party.

From behind the counter, Luca watches the door with an expression I haven’t seen on his face before, something between thoughtfulness and restraint. He says nothing, which is so unlike him that for a moment I almost ask if he’s okay. Then he turns back to the coffee machine with the focus of someone who has decided to let something go without making a speech about it.