“Aw, I can’t wait to see the two of you with your own little one running around.” Your sister beams, her new baby balanced expertly on Simon’s lap while you’re on the floor playing with building blocks with your nephew.

It’s not new, and at this point, you’ve lost count of how many people have hinted (some less subtly than others) that it’s “about time” you and Simon think about having little ones of your own. As if just being together this long automatically flips a switch.

Later that night, after cleaning up from dinner, you wander into the living room with a mug of tea in hand. Simon’s already made himself comfortable—sprawled across the other couch, legs stretched out, feet on the coffee table. Your cat is dangling from his hands like a limp orange scarf.

“He totally looks like you,” Simon says, holding Pumpkin up by the armpits without even glancing your way.

You roll your eyes. “Put Pumpkin down, you menace.” But you’re laughing as you drop onto the couch beside him. Simon lets go, and Pumpkin flops dramatically into your lap.

You grin, just as Riley trots in, tail wagging, your husband’s mask dangling from his mouth. The skull balaclava clutched between his teeth like it’s a prize. Simon’s eyes widen. “Oi! That’s not yours!”