"Muh. Muh," Ava said, clapping. "Da," she said, raising her arms to me.

"Jodie, I'd better get going. Ava wants out of the playpen."

"Chris, thanks for calling to tell me she said her first word, even if it wasn't. It was her first word with you, and that's the same thing. It's nice that it's such a big deal to you and that you shared it with me."

"I'm sure there'll be a lot more to come," I said.

"Definitely."

I hung up and stared at the phone. That was the first phone call Jodie and I had ever gotten through without a yell, snide remark, curse word or lingering bad feeling. We were actually civil to each other.

Not being hated was quite a nice feeling.

Later in the morning, the temperature climbed to the low forties, so I bundled Ava up in the little pink down jacket and pom-pom hat I'd bought her for her birthday, packed up her diaper bag and settled her in her stroller. On my way to the elevator I stopped at Ginger's apartment. She opened the door wearing a s.e.xy kimono.

"Up for a walk to the park?" I asked her. "It's gorgeous out."

"Hi, sweetie," she said to Ava, kneeling down to give her pom-poms a little pat. She stood back up and whispered, "I'd love to, but I have company." She gestured back inside her apartment and smiled. "We're having brunch and then going for a walk in Central Park."

"Good for you," I whispered back, squeezing her hand. "Have fun."

"Jiffy Pop tonight?" she asked. "Annie Hall is on at eight."

"I'll be over at seven-thirty," I said. "I want to hear all about this guy."

She laughed. "You're going to make a great girlfriend."

When I arrived at the playground to enjoy the unusually warm winter day, I saw Nell and the Jens sitting on the rim of the sandbox, their toddlers wielding brightly colored shovels and pails at their feet. Blond Jen nudged Nell and they all glanced over at me, then turned back. A fourth mom's head peered out from behind brunette Jen and eyed me. Ah, so they had already replaced me. They all slid their b.u.t.ts to the left on the concrete rim so that their backs were to me.

How mature! You're not chasing me out of my favorite playground, Posse.

I took Ava from her stroller and settled her on my lap. She watched a pigeon circle a baggie of Cheerios and Goldfish crackers.

"Kicked out of the clique?"

I glanced up. There stood Kaye, the woman who'd saved me from the Posse way back when. Her baby was in a Bjorn at her chest. He wore a blue knit cap with Jake embroidered along the rim.

I nodded. "I think they realized I wasn't a mother."

She smiled and started walking away, toward the swings.

"Wait," I said. "Ieh, this is going to sound stupid, but I just wanted you to know that I think you got the wrong impression that first day we spoke. I didn't walk out on my wife and Ava. It was the other way around. My wife left" I shook my head. "Why am I telling you this?"

"You're saying you're not the bad guy."

"Yeah, but my wife wasn't either, really," I said. "Well, except for cheating on me. Dumping me. Moving in with her boyfriend. Except for all that." I smiled. "When it comes right down to it, she wasn't happy, couldn't get happy with what she had, and so she left. I guess it's really as simple as that, as gray area as that."

"It took me a long time to get to that point," Kaye said.

I glanced at her. "You?"

She pulled off her gloves and wiggled her ringless left hand. "My husband left us two months after Jake was born. He fell in love with a flight attendant on his way back from a business trip in Milwaukee."

I stared at her for a second, forcing my gaping mouth to close. "You know, I'm thinking of starting a bench playgroup for single parents who just want to stare into s.p.a.ce. Interested?"

"Only if complaining, venting and occasionally bursting into tears is allowed," she said.

"Oh, all those things are requirements."

She sat down. "Sign us up."

Chapter sixteen.

Roxy At exactly six o'clock on Friday night, the Bold Books receptionist buzzed my office. "Rob Roberts is here to see you."

Rob Roberts.

For our first date.

When I rounded the reception area and saw him standing there, I sucked in my breath. Robbie was a good-looking guy, but in an expensive dark suit and carrying a dozen long-stemmed red roses, he was drop-dead gorgeous. Three onlookers were gawking in the small s.p.a.ce. Miranda was pretending to teach Lucy how to use the receptionist's outdated phone system. Christopher was pretending to be absorbed in a fax he'd supposedly just received. Yet all three were checking out Robbie. He seemed genuinely pleased to meet such important new people in my lifemy boss, my roommate, and the big boss, well under Futterman. After introductions and hand-shaking and a chorus of "nice to meet you," Miranda mouthed, Wow.

"I know you sometimes work weekends," Robbie said to me. "So I figured these flowers would brighten up a Sat.u.r.day at the office."

I saw Lucy mouth an Aww! to Miranda. Christopher was nodding in you-go-guy way.

"Thanks," I said, touched by the gesture.

I led him to the kitchenette to grab a vase and fill it with water, then we headed to my tiny office.

He glanced around. "Very impressive digs, Roxy. And if you don't mind my saying so, you look beautiful."

Was I actually blushing? "Thanks, Robbie."

"I go by Rob now, actually."

I smiled. "Rob."

Outside, he hailed a cab and off we sped. We sat in the back seat in companionable silence, looking out the window at the scenery of a weekend night coming to life in Manhattan. I'd had s.e.x with Robbie how many times since we were sixteen? Thousands? Yet I was so aware of him sitting next to me, aware of his strong shoulder so close to mine. His muscular thigh. When he turned to point out the colors of the top of the Empire State Building, I stared at his mouth. Suddenly I wanted nothing more than to kiss him, rip off his clothes and jump his bones.

The taxi came to an abrupt stop in front of Thai Alert, jarring me out of my little fantasy.

"I think you might like the Pad Thai," he said as we sat down at our table and opened our menus. "I researched the different entrees and that sounds like something you'd like."

"You researched Thai food?"

He nodded. "I know you always wanted to try it."

Robbie was a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy. A steak and baked potato to be exact. Unless noodles were pasta with marinara sauce, he didn't eat them. Thai was big.

"So you're a lawyer?" I ventured, playing along with our first date.

He nodded. "I specialize in personal injury. Right now I'm working pro bono for Betty Fusco. Eighty-one years old and eighty-one pounds, and down she goes on the sidewalk in front of Bartuli's Bakery because the jerk wouldn't salt the sidewalk in front of his shop after a snowstorm in December. She broke her hip and her collarbone and spent over a month in the hospital, heartbroken over being separated from her mangy little dog that a neighbor took in for her. Bartuli and the city and her insurance company gave her the huge run-aroundbut I didn't. I've known Betty my entire life. She babysat my mother, did you know that? I care about Betty. I care about everyone in Bay Ridge. These are people I've known my entire life. And when they're failed by the system, I step in."

Robbie had always been so dedicated to helping people, especially children and the elderly and the poor. He was often chided for "ambulance chasing," but he did nothing of the kind.

"So you must love Bay Ridge," I said. "You must want to live there for the rest of your life."

"Not necessarily," he said, looking at me. "Iffor examplethe woman I loved wanted to live on Mars, I'm pretty sure I'd be happy there."

"Would you?" I asked.

"Be happy there or move there?"

"Both."

"I'd both move there and be happy there," he said. "I've learned a thing or two these past few months, Roxy. I don't want to say something cheesy like 'home is where the heart is,' but home is definitely where the heart is. And my heart is, and has always been, with you."

I took a deep breath and smiled, suddenly shy, suddenly nervous. As always, he picked up on my mood.

"So you're an editor?" he asked, smiling. "I've love to hear about your job. It sounds fascinating."

For the next twenty minutes he listened and asked questions. We talked work, movies, books, politics (which we strangely agreed on). We talked everything but us.

"Hey," he said, twirling noodles around his fork. "This is really good."

"Surprised?"

He nodded. "I was going to force myself to eat whatever was served to me. But I really like this. Whodathunk, eh?" he added in a Brooklyn accent.

Three hours later, after a play we discussed for a half hour at the trendy bar, Robbie escorted me out of our taxi and toward my building. It was a cold night.

"I had a great time," he said.

"Me too." And I had.

"Would you like to go out again sometime?" he asked. "Next Friday night?"

Friday night was my third date with Nathanial. "I don't know, Robbie."

He glanced at me. "I understand that you want to take this slow."

I wasn't sure I wanted to take it at all. What was I doing? Dating my ex-fiance? That was insane.

He leaned toward me and kissed me, and as always, I melted into it. "I'll tell you what. When and if you want to, you ask me out for our second date, okay?"

I took a deep breath. "Okay."

He smiled. "I'll wait till I see your light turn on upstairs."

I kissed him on the cheek and headed in, walking to the window in the dark. I peered down onto the street, lightly lit by streetlamps, and there he was, glancing up. When I realized that I didn't want him to walk away, I snapped on the light. He smiled up at me and then disappeared into the night.

How the h.e.l.l had he done it? How could he actually make me fall for him again by calling me twice a week for two months and taking me to a Thai restaurant and a pretentious play and telling me that he'd live anywhere I wanted?

"Idiot," Miranda said, when she came home a half hour later. "It's not the Thai food or the stupid play or even that he'd live in Manhattan. It's him."

"Him? I've known Robbie my entire life. I didn't marry him for a reason, Miranda."

"Yeah, so figure out what that reason was."

The following Friday, my third date with Nathanial, I was a woman on a mission. A misguided mission, according to Miranda.

"You're not suddenly going to fall for Nathanial just because you don't want to be in love with Robbie," she said. "Nathanial bored you. You said kissing him was like kissing your uncle."

"Nathanial is a great guy," I said. "He's smart, kind, funny, warmand very interested."

"So's Robbie."

I told her to mind her own beeswax and then raided her closet for the slinkiest outfit I could find. I'd bought a s.e.xy red bra and a thong and slipped them on. I spritzed perfume in strange places.

"You can't create l.u.s.t," Miranda said, packing an overnight bag. "I shouldn't even spend the night at Lucy'sI should stay here so you can't sleep with Nathanial."

"There's always his place," I pointed out.

"No woman likes to go to a guy's apartment the first time they have s.e.x," Miranda said. "Women like to be on their own turf."

I tugged one of her long blond curls. "Thank you for worrying. But I'll be fine, I promise. And who says I'm going to sleep with him? I'm just trying to figure out how I feel."

"Good luck," she said, giving my hand a squeeze.

Yeah, good luck. Robbie had called every night since our "date" last week. Sometimes we had short conversations about long, tiring days at work, and sometimes, like Wednesday and last night's conversations, we had longies about our families. I'd just found out this week that Edwin Futterman had approved my proposal for the book about my family, and the first person I wanted to tell was Robbie. Little things like that had been stopping me in my tracks all week. A gold star from Lucy on a reader's report, and I wanted to call Robbie to share my pride. A report of child abuse in the morning newspaper, and I wanted to call Robbie just to hear his voice, just to be rea.s.sured of I didn't even know what.

Since I'd been at work when I'd found out that my book proposal had been approved, I shared the great news with the Breakup Club, and Lucy, Miranda and Christopher had celebrated with me after work last night for a little while at a tapas cafe, then everyone had had to leave. Lucy and Amelia were having dinner with Amelia's friend Lizzie and her mother; apparently they'd formed something of their own mini support group. Miranda was studying for an SAT-like examination required of applicants to graduate schools of education. And Christopher was picking up Ava. I'd been so excited to get back home to my laptop to work on the book. But before I settled down to work, I'd wanted to tell Robbie.

He was so proud of me. I went on and on about my outline and how I planned to approach the book, chapters devoted to certain couples, anecdotes from other relatives, some figures and facts about marriage, and of course, my own take as someone who'd opted out of marriage. And then I asked him why he thought no one in the history of the Marone family had ever gotten divorced.

"Because they want to be together," he'd said. "It's that simple."

"Marriage can't possibly be simple."

"Marriage isn't simple, but wanting to spend your life with someone is."

Clearly, it wasn't. "So even though a wife throws a fork at a husband," I said, "or a husband cheats or a wife cheats, or they haven't had s.e.x in fifteen years or they barely speak in a day, they want to be together? I don't get that at all."