“Cool. You’re not getting off that easily. An in-person apology might get you off the hook, though. Dinner in thirty. We’re going to La Casa. You’re paying.” “Pass,” I say. “You don’t get a pass. I’m pregnant.” “That’s not my fault. Pass.” “And yet, if you want little Mercury Starcruiser to know his uncle, you’ll get your ass to that restaurant, or I swear to God, you’re dead to me.” I groan. “Go annoy your wife. Why even get married if you still need me to do stuff with you? Be like a normal newlywed and forget you have friends. Grow apart from me, woman!”
