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Kirsty’s.
    We grew up together in Maine, and the two of us have been inseparable since our elementary school days. When she and her then-boyfriend Tim both got jobs in London right after university, I decided to hit the big city, too. And despite a rather rocky start, that decision has turned out to be the smartest of my life. Just look at me now! I’m making my way up in the world of serious journalism, not to mention I have the best boyfriend ever.
    Out on the busy street, I grab a bottle of wine from an off-license then quicken my pace as I round the corner to Kirsty’s. She and Tim live in a gorgeous Edwardian terraced house just off Regent’s Park, and after Jeremy’s, it’s the place I feel most comfortable. The decor reflects the couple’s warm and down-to-earth personality, all soft beiges and greens, with chunky leather sofas perfect for lounging on.
     I ring the buzzer, and the door swings open.
    “Oh, hey, Ser!” Kirsty appears, cradling a burbling Jane. With my friend’s rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes alongside the baby’s cherubic face, the two of them look like an advertisement from the Mothercare catalogue.
    On the other hand, I’m wearing plastic-poked polyester trousers and a wrinkled top, and my glow is down to sweat from the sauna-like tube. I thought new moms were supposed to be tired and worn out. My friend makes it all seem easy.
    “You’ve got wine!” Kirsty grins, spotting the bottle in my hand. “In that case . . .” She motions me into the spacious ground floor. It’s a picture of calm, and apart from the toys and other kid paraphernalia (I don’t know what exactly; baby things are a mystery to me), the place looks the same as ever: funky and cool, like the stylish London family they are.
    “Tim,” Kirsty shouts, a notch quieter than her usual brash tone so she’s not yelling into Jane’s ear. “Can you come take Jane?”
    Tim pads down the corridor, expertly lifting the baby from Kirsty. Jane doesn’t even protest, her chubby face breaking into a smile as she waves jellyroll arms. I swear, I’ve never seen that kid unhappy. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect they’ve been feeding her Child Prozac or something. Now there’s an idea!  I almost can’t believe a pharmaceutical company hasn’t come up with it yet.
     “Hey, Ser,” Tim says, jiggling Jane. “You two take your time and catch up. I’ll put Jane down and make us all something to eat. Sound good?”
    Kirsty nods, pushing back her caramel curls. “Perfect. Thanks, hon.” She liberates the bottle of wine from my arms. “Give me a sec and I’ll crack this open.”
    Plonking down on a leather sofa in the lounge, I can’t help thinking how in tune Kirsty and Tim are, and what a great team they make. They had a bit of a tough time when Kirsty discovered she was pregnant; to say she was shocked is an understatement. They got through it, though, and now they’re stronger than ever. I love that they both take care of the baby, and Tim is a fabulous dad, despite his full-time job at an investment bank in the City. Kirsty’s cut her hours to part-time, and she seems to have struck the perfect balance between motherhood and career woman – not that I’d expect anything less from my super-efficient friend.
    “So,” she says brightly, handing me a brimming glass of wine. “Good timing. I’ve been dying to talk to you! I had to keep quiet until we knew for sure, though.”
    “Talk to me? About what?” Kirsty can’t be pregnant again, can she? I try to surreptitiously eye her midsection, but she’s wearing her favourite University of Maine T-shirt with all the shape of a potato sack.  Are she and Tim finally having a wedding reception? They got married in a registry office last year, just the two of them. Ever since, Kirsty’s been promising me she’ll throw a party to celebrate. Once they had Jane, though, they seem to have forgotten. Reception aside, the poor baby hasn’t even been christened