“Better to be safe than sorry,” I mutter.

“I am here with Holly four days a week,” Jemma says patiently. “I know her schedule. I know how to use the washing machine and the microwave. I have read The Happiest Baby, Sh!t No One Tells You, and Pat the Bunny.”

“I know,” I answer miserably, and gratefully.

“You are only going to New York,” she continues. “For the business day. You could practically take a cab home. Now get your bag and go. We’ll see you tonight, same time as always.”

“Is Henry still planning to pick you up here after work?” I ask. Jemma and Henry are leaving immediately for her sister’s wedding in Providence. The last-minute New York meeting put me into a tailspin. Jemma warned me months ago that she needed this day off for the wedding rehearsal and dinner. I’ve placed one of my best friends in a horrible position. She’s split the difference for me, and I’m deeply grateful. Charlotte couldn’t (wouldn’t) come, and I haven’t cultivated a relationship with any other caregiver for Holly.

I’m in a bind of my own making.

And it’s killing me.

“Yes,” Jem answers. “If we leave here by six thirty, we’ll get to the rehearsal dinner in Providence by eight at the latest. We’ll miss some of cocktail hour, but that’s probably a good thing. It’s going to be a long weekend with my family.”

“And you’re sure it’s okay for the maid of honor to miss the rehearsal?” I ask dubiously.

“Yes, my sister the bridezilla walked me through it last weekend,” she says. “As long as we get there sometime tonight, everything will be fine.”

She looks back down at the pages in her hand.

“Hairball remedy?”

“For Minky,” I explain. “Sometimes she chokes.”

“GO,” Jem says.

I pick up my leather bag and try to swing it over my shoulder, but it knocks into some of the supplies I have helpfully stacked on the island. Cans of formula and cat food, bottles of baby ibuprofen and Ipecac—just in case—fall and roll. The six-pack of Corona (for Henry) stands firm, but the lime rolls too.

“K bye,” I call. If I start kissing Holly, I’ll never leave. The sooner I go, the sooner I’ll get home.

Or something like that.

* * *

Around one p.m., in between meetings, I look out the window and see just a few glittery little snowflakes in the air. So pretty in the city. I hope it snows tomorrow night in Boston. It would be so romantic for my dinner with Nick.

Around two p.m., I look out the window and see… four inches of snow on the ground. At least, I can kind of see it. Visibility is about ten feet. Mostly I just see white. I should be heading to the airport in half an hour.

I pull out my phone to check for a text from the airline. And there it is. Flights to Boston Logan canceled.

Don’t panic, Chloe. Do not panic. Breathe.

She doesn’t pick up: “Jemma, it’s me. My flight is canceled. Where are you? Call me.”

I text her: flight canceled call me!

I email, and send a Facebook message. I resort to Twitter. I call Henry, whose phone goes directly to voicemail. He must be with a client.

Another deep breath. Another.

Solve the problem, Chloe. New York is not that far from Boston. I can get home somehow. Right?

I find Jack, the office manager, and ask him to call Amtrak for train reservations.

“Sorry, Chloe, they’ve canceled all trains to Boston. Looks like this is going to be a major blizzard. I’ll find you a hotel room.”

“No. NO! No hotel room. I have to get home.” I am leaning over his desk. He leans away. “What about a car rental?”

“Chloe. It’s a blizzard. We’ve had four inches of snow in an hour. You can’t drive three hours in this! What if you get stuck on I-95? You could die!”

He’s right. Shit.

Shitshitshit.

My phone rings, Jemma’s ringtone.

“Chloe? Weather says you’re going to get a snowstorm this evening. It’s bypassing New England, but New York’s getting whomped.”

“Did you not see my messages?”

“No, we just got back from a walk. What did they say?”

“They said we are having a snowstorm!”

Heads pop up from cubicles all around me. I walk to a corner and lower my voice, cupping my hand around my phone.

“My flight is canceled. All flights are canceled. So are the trains. I can’t get home.”

“Well, that’s just not possible,” Jem says calmly. “I have to be in my sister’s wedding. In Providence. You have to get home. In fact, we should probably leave sooner than we planned.”

“How, Jemma? How am I going to get home? Teleport?”

Silence.

“Okay,” she says slowly. “We need to figure this out. When do you think you can get here?”

“I don’t know! Tuesday?”

Am I yelling? Jack has opened the door of an unoccupied office and is motioning me in.

“Hotel room?” he whispers.

I nod unhappily.

“I guess Henry could stay here with Holly,” Jemma offers. “If you can get home tomorrow morning, he might even make the wedding.” I hear the skepticism in her voice, though. Her sister’s already pissed Jemma is missing the rehearsal. If Henry doesn’t go, I could be the reason for a decades-long resentment that it’s unfair to create for them.

“Oh Jem. That is so generous of you.” They hate to be apart. “But I don’t think Henry’s interest in public health extends to wiping poopy bottoms. I wouldn’t leave him alone with a baby for ten minutes.”

I’m helping her save face.

“That’s true. He’s going to have to ease into fatherhood when we’re ready,” she says with a distracted laugh. “Besides, my family already doesn’t like Henry. This could push them over the edge. If I go without him, it could get… bad.” She sighs. “What about your cousin? The social worker?”

“In Florida. Visiting Charlotte. Who can’t even fly up for an emergency now!” A little sob of desperation escapes from me.

My phone beeps. Another call coming in.

It’s Nick.

“Jem? I’ll call you right back. Two minutes.”