There was one person who never laughed, though.
David.
He had been Richard’s closest friend since college. He was quiet, considerate, and somehow always remembered which baby was which.
Whenever he came over, he asked how I was sleeping.
Once, while I was trying to eat dinner with Tobby crying against my shoulder, David reached toward me.
“You look exhausted, Bel. Give him to me and eat while the food’s still hot.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to. Sit down.”
Over the following months, I noticed something else.
Whenever Richard made one of his jokes about me, David’s expression would change.
He never argued.
He never caused a scene.
But his jaw would tighten, and suddenly he would become very interested in warming a bottle or cleaning something nearby.
Anything except laughing along with Richard.
I didn’t give it much thought.
I was too occupied with surviving life with triplets.
