May slides into June in a flurry as our busiest season kicks in. Families traveling to the Hamptons with their poodles and terriers, dogs needing summer trims, and cats requiring shorter nails keep me occupied, along with opening the second salon in Brooklyn.

I’m at Fluffy & Fabulous late nearly every day, shuttling to Brooklyn in the evenings to work with the manager there.

I see Miles a few times, usually with Ben. We’ll meet for lunch or an ice cream cone, and sometimes we’ll visit a playground. Ben will climb and slide and swing, and Miles and I will chat about Sam Cooke and true crime, Madagascar and lemurs, aliens and whether anyone will ever truly live on Mars.

In early June, Mackenzie sends out the invitations for her summer wedding at the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens, and Ally digs deeper into the planning for her wedding to Miller in the early fall. She doesn’t want to take attention away from Mackenzie’s nuptials, even though she and Miller were engaged first. It’s sweet the way they all look out for each other.

On a warm Sunday morning, the three of us get together for brunch and admire pictures of dresses and photos of flowers.

“I think I want an outdoor wedding,” Ally says. “Maybe in Central Park.”

“Do it on one of the bridges there,” Mackenzie suggests.

Ally’s blue eyes light up. “I love that idea.”

Even though I’m ecstatic for both of them, my heart aches the slightest bit as they talk. I weigh in with an occasional cheerleader comment, rah-rah-ing their ideas. But I don’t have much to say, especially since my life seems to be veering in the opposite direction. Mackenzie’s son turns fourteen soon, and Ally’s daughter is nearly twelve, and they’re busy with weddings and puberty. I’m still waiting to see if my apartment will even come through. I’ve heard from a few other places, and the alternatives look promising, but my fingers are still crossed for my dream home.

When brunch ends, we walk with Ally to pick up Chloe from a friend’s house. When the red-haired girl emerges, she gives Ally a quick peck on the cheek. “Hi, Mom.”

Ally smiles brightly. There was a time when Ally was “Aunt Ally” to Chloe, even though Ally has raised her since she was six. To have graduated to just Mom is thrilling, judging from the way her eyes dance with happiness.

“Hey, monkey,” Ally says.

Chloe turns to me. “My friend Hailey and I think you should name your baby Maddie. She’s our favorite character on Girls Rule.”

“Duly noted,” I say, then ask her how the sleepover went, and I make mental notes about all the things a twelve-year-old likes, hoping I’ll remember it all a decade from now.

* * *

One night as I zoom into my twenty-fifth week, Miles texts to say he’s heading to a gig, but that he has new names for me.

Miles drops him off, and since the Museum of Modern Art is open late on Fridays, I take him there. We stroll through the galleries, debating whether we like Jackson Pollock or Mark Rothko, but in the end, we both decide we like Edward Hopper best of all.

By the time we’re done dining on pizza and carrot sticks at my place, Ben crashes on my couch, mouth open, tiny little-boy snores rumbling from his nose. My heart hammers against my chest, overwhelmed with the adorableness. I snap a picture and send to Miles.

The next morning, Ben and I meet Miles at a diner and settle into a booth. Ben and I update him on our art museum escapades, and as we do, my heart pounds harder, beating a strange new rhythm that sounds remarkably like I told you so.

Like my mother was right.

“What if you find someone in your condition? What if you meet the perfect man right now? You wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.”

I guess Mom knew best. I found someone. Someone I like. Someone I like a lot. Someone I’m falling for.

Too bad Cupid is hitting me with an arrow at the worst possible time. I don’t know how to have a relationship when I’m not pregnant, let alone when I’m ballooning with a stranger’s baby. There is no guidebook on how to date when you’re six months pregnant. At least, none that I’m aware of. Besides, Miles is a sexy, in-demand rocker. I’m a watermelon.

My shoulders sag a little bit, but I do my best to keep a cheery attitude. When the French toast arrives, my phone buzzes. The number on the screen makes me sit up straighter.

“Is it the doctor?” Miles asks, a touch of worry in his voice.

I shake my head, twisting my index and middle fingers together. “Genevieve. The woman who runs the co-op board.”

When I answer, she tells me my application has been approved and the place is mine. “We’re having a little reception next week, and we’d love to invite you. Bring a friend if you’d like.”

I nearly bounce in the booth. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

When I hang up, Miles is patiently waiting, his eyes wide and eager. “Well?”

I bat my lashes. “Can I cash in another plus-one ticket?”

“Anytime. And anywhere.”

The words slide over my skin like a caress, and I don’t think it’s pregnancy hormones that are making me feel like anytime, anywhere means more than plus-one.

It’s the way he says it. It’s how he looks at me.

It’s the way I want him so much.

* * *

This is getting to be a habit.

My mother is right about another thing. The dress is perfect. The rose-gold fabric shimmers like a jewel. At almost twenty-six weeks, I’m not quite a basketball, but I’m on my way. Somehow, this dress has all the space my big bump needs.

Maybe my mother is a fortune-teller. I’m so impressed with her skill in picking the right size that I snap a mirror selfie and send it to her.

I take a breath, setting the phone down as I decide whether to tell her or not. I head into the bathroom, grab a clip, and twist my hair into a quick updo. I slide in earrings then consider my reflection.

Lip gloss, mascara, boobs for days, and a belly you can’t miss. Yet, with this dress and these shoes and this man and the way we are, there’s a part of me that keeps hoping it’s a date.

I lift my chin, pucker my lips, and make a decision. Picking up my phone, I reply to my mother.

Then I head downstairs and find Miles waiting for me in the lobby, leaning against the wall. He’s usually wearing jeans and casual clothes. But he takes my breath away in his dark pants, dress shoes, and a white button-down shirt that I want to rip off.

His eyes roam up and down my body, and I swear he’s thinking the same thing I am.

This dress is coming off tonight.