Tim looked up at me from his glass of bordeaux, “How old is your son?” Three, I said. He mentioned his was ten, and that it goes by so fast. I agreed. I told him my son doesn’t like to brush his teeth. He said, “I practically have to hold him down so he’ll finish his homework.” I said I was the same way and Tim confessed the same. I asked how often he gets to see his child and he said it was a strange question, and how often do I get to see mine. I said, “Two days,” and that the child was not actually mine. Tim said, “Two days are better than no days.” I agreed, and admitted I have a hard time waking him up in the morning, and that sometimes I just scream. “Don’t scream at a fucking three year old,” he said. I began talking about preschool, but he finished his drink, got up and walked away.