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cup, her eyes gleaming.
    I glance at Jonas, hoping to share a wide smile about Gracie’s off-the-charts adorableness, or maybe about Josh’s cocky charm, or maybe simply about how happy and lucky we are to be sitting in this room with these incredible people right now, but the strained look on Jonas’ face makes my stomach drop. What the hell is going on inside that labyrinth otherwise known as Jonas’ brain?
    “Okay, so, a toast,” Josh says. He swoops Gracie off the couch with one fluid motion of his muscled arm and holds his drink out with the other. “To the Faradays,” he says.
    It’s the same toast he always gives, so the rest of us begin to chime in with our usual reply: “Here, here! To the Fara—”
    “Hang on a second, guys,” Josh interrupts. “I’m in a particularly verbose mood tonight. Indulge me for a minute.” He tilts his head toward his brother. “To Jo Jo the Dancing Clown—may your future babies teach you to relax once in a while, bro.” He grins. “Wow. You look like a serial killer right now, Uncle Jo Jo.”
    Jonas takes a defiant swig of his beer but doesn’t respond.
    Josh shifts his gaze to me. “To OAP Cruz, our fearless leader, our George Clooney, the fucking genius who—”
    “ Language .” Kat says, glaring at him.
    Josh smirks. “Sorry.” He kisses Gracie on her rosy cheek. “Sorry, Gracie. To OAP Cruz, the effing genius who kicks butt and takes names and has thankfully made my brother moderately tolerable to be around, if only occasionally. We all thank you profusely for that, Sarah.”
    I nod my acknowledgment and glance at Jonas, yet again wanting to share some sort of humorous nonverbal exchange—maybe this time about Josh’s constant but clueless reference to me as ‘OAP Cruz’—but Jonas is too busy glaring at Josh to pay me any mind.
    “To my gorgeous Party Girl with a Hyphen,” Josh continues, unfazed by Jonas’ searing eyes on him. “Even when you’re barfing, which you do a lot , you’re still beautiful.” His face ignites exactly the way it did when he toasted her at their wedding two and a half years ago. His voice turns earnest. “You rock my effing world, Party Girl.”
    Kat smiles. “You rock mine, Playboy.”
    “And, finally, to little Miss Sparkle-Boots here.” He hugs Gracie into his chest. “You’re so much like your sassy mommy, you kinda freak me out, kid.” He kisses her cheek.
    Gracie holds up her cup. “Hee, hee!”
    Josh laughs. “Okay, okay, hang on. It’s almost time.” He holds up his drink. “And to the three mini-Faradays on the way—please, guys, or gals, or whatever combination thereof, give your beleaguered mommies a break so they can stop barfing and get some much-needed sleep, respectively.”
    “Amen,” Kat says.
    “Please and thank you,” I chime in.
    Josh turns to Gracie. “Okay, you ready to clink, Little G?”
    “Hee, hee!” Gracie shouts.
    “Hold on,” Kat says. “One more toast.” She holds up her glass. “To the Playboy with the Heart of Gold. You injected me with your super-sperm and turned me into a baby-incubating-barf-o-matic.” She grins. “And I’m so effing happy you did.”
    “Wow, that was beautiful, babe—pure poetry. Brought a tear to my eye.”
    Kat shrugs. “I’ve told you a thousand times. There are two things I do well in this life: men and PR.”
    “Well, I can most definitely attest to the first one.”
    Gracie squirms with impatience against her daddy’s chest. “Hee, hee?”
    “Okay, okay,” Josh says. “The natives are getting restless. Hold up your sippy, Little G. We’re gonna say it now.” We all hold up our drinks, including Gracie. “To the Faradays!” Josh booms. “Because this family effing rocks, people.”
    “Here, here! To the Faradays!” We all clink our drinks, each of us taking special care to lean over and bump Gracie’s plastic orange cup.
    “We’re getting her trained young,” Kat says to Josh, and they both laugh.
    “Hee, hee!”