Previously published in The Wagon Magazine.

 “Sybil, darling, it’s Allison, how are you, my dear?”

“Just fine, Allison,” I say, holding one of the girls in my arms, the receiver clutched between my cheek and shoulder. “And you?”

“Splendid, couldn’t be better. Say, I’m having a few friends over on the tenth for cocktails around eight and I’d love for you to join us, that is if you’re free that night,” she says. She knows that I am. Where would the hell else I am?….

Read the rest here.