Hey gang — another one-shot here. This one's a lot of Will/Mac in addition to Sloan, and includes a couple tiny winks to all the Sorkin diehards out there (let me know if you spot them!). It's a little cheesy, and there's definitely some set-up for later posts, but I'm personally a fan, since there's a lot of banter and I LOVE banter. Plus, it's significantly cheerier than the last posted one. Because puppies. And champagne.

Also, this has never happened before (and will never happen again), but this chapter, chronologically, follows the one preceding it. So that's cool, I guess.

Let me know what you think!

January

"What do you think of this one?" Don asks, holding up his iPad, as Sloan applies her makeup. "He's pretty cute, right?"

She turns to examine the photo and finds herself face-to-face with an (admittedly adorable) golden retriever. "Not bad."

"But you want a poodle-mix," Don surmises. It's not a difficult deduction, since she's made the same assertion every single time he's shown her a potential puppy.

"They're hypoallergenic and adorable," she insists. She's not sure why he's so gung-ho about a damn dog — personally, she feels her plate is pretty damn full, with the job and the apartment renovation and the just-being-married. She's still pretty unused to the just-being-married side of things and she wouldn't mind some extra time to adjust. So if she's going to be waking up an hour earlier than she already does to take a dog out, she wants it to be freaking adorable. And not shed all over her new couch. And not make her sneeze. "I don't care what type of -oodle he or she is. Goldendoodle, labradoodle, jackadoodle, snickerdoodle —"

"You made that up."

"Did I? And if I did, does it really sound more ridiculous than goldendoodle?"

"Point Sabbith," he concedes. "It's going to be hard to get a rescue and an -oodle dog, though. The -oodle types are usually from a breeder's."

This is where she draws the line. "No, we have to get a rescue," she says. "There are four million dogs and cats euthanized yearly. We're not adding to the population of dogs when there are perfectly lovely, lovable ones that we can save."

"There are millions of kids in foster care too. By that logic, we should adopt when we're thinking about having kids."

"That's not the same, since they're not shelving kids in shelters until they're ready to kill them, but I wouldn't be opposed."

"Really?"

"Yeah," she shrugs. "What's our timeframe for that, by the way?" If he wants a dog now that might mean he wants a kid next and she's definitely not quite ready for that.

"For what?"

"For kids."

"Oh," he considers. "I don't know? We said two, right?"

"No more than two," she insists. She's not going through labor more than twice. Hell, she's not sure she's going through it more than once.

"'Kay," he shrugs. "I don't know. I guess I'd like to have had at least one by the time I'm forty."

He just turned thirty-five in September. Plenty of time. Thank god. "Ok," she says.

"That sound good?"

"Sounds great," she smiles. He tilts his head, slightly confused, and waits for her to continue. "If we're getting a dog, I think we need to figure out how to parent a dog first. And before kids, we need to you know, finish the kitchen, figure out our careers, and —"

"Figure out how to be married?" he finishes.

"Yes," she smiles. "Exactly. We're doing OK with that, right?"

"I think so. Do you think so?"

"I think so too," she smiles. "Alright. Do I —"

"Look gorgeous? Yes," he smiles. He stands to kiss her before moving around her. He's been waiting for at least twenty minutes and he's ready to get going. "Come on, let's get going."

"You know, if you want to sell the whole 'you look gorgeous' thing, you might at least pretend like you wanted to skip this shindig and just have sex with me," she complains as she grabs her clutch and black trench.

"Sloan, you look gorgeous, I would love to throw you on the bed, rip that dress —"

"This dress is separates, and don't rip the them. They're Tory Burch." It's one of her favorite outfits, though she rarely has the occasion to wear the hunter-and-navy jacquard silk shell top and matching mini skirt. The back of the top is folded origami-napkin style, so there's a solid triangle of skin exposed on her lower back. She's got hunter velvet Jimmy Choos and a chunky sapphire necklace on to match, too. She looks hot.

"How much did we pay for the … separates?" he asks suspiciously. He hasn't trusted her with money since he found out her couch cost seven thousand dollars. His wariness is, quite frankly, both hilarious and horrifying.

"We didn't pay for them; I did, with my own money, which I earned." When he raises an eyebrow — they agreed to merge bank accounts — she adds, "Also, I bought it two years ago."

"Fine. Much as I would like to toss you on this bed and then carefully remove the separates without damaging them, and then also hang them up in their exact spot in the closet before rocking your world, I think you need to go to this more than I do."

"It's Will and Mac's engagement party; not only do we have to go, I want to go."

"I want to go," he says. "I didn't think that was in question. But you have to go, since you helped address the vellum invitations and are making a speech and everything. I just want to go for the booze and food and company."

"This argument is getting stupid," she says.

"Most of our arguments are, when you think about it."

"No, Ghiradelli versus Godiva was important," she deadpans.

He kisses her with a little bit more heat than is strictly necessary. "I am absolutely fine not going," he says with a smirk. His fingers drum lightly on the exposed skin on her back. "Just for the record. Say the word, and I will carefully remove the separates."

She whimpers. Dammit. "We should go."

He smirks. "Thought so." He takes her jacket from her and helps her shrug it on. "You got your speech?"

"In my jacket. I might just wing it, though. I've always been great with the improv." She's still absolutely unclear why Mac asked her to do this.

"Sure, Tina Fey. Please don't."

Fifteen minutes later, they're exiting the cab at the MOMA, which is lit up like a Christmas tree. Don lets out a low whistle. "How many people did they end up inviting?"

"After Lady McHale saw the list? About three-fifty."

"What the hell is the wedding going be like?"

"If Kenzie gets her way? Nothing like this."

"I don't think I even know three hundred fifty people," Don says, amazed.

"That's probably true."

She wants to find Kenzie, but they're temporarily sidetracked by Maggie yelling, "Don! Sloan!" as they enter. She's with most of the NewsNight junior staff, and looks great in a sparkly silver dress. Her hair, dyed strawberry blonde at the insistence of Rebecca Halliday, has finally grown out a bit, and the overall look is very elfin-ishly cute. They air-kiss everyone — Martin has a very young-looking date; Neal's with a girl whose name undoubtedly has three extra e's; Kendra and Tamara are there with their husbands; Gary and Tess are both alone and double-fisting shots from the open bar — and squeal over outfits. Maggie has brought Lisa-the-roommate as her date, and Don greets her warmly.

"Has anyone seen the guests of honor?" Sloan asks.

"I think they're over by the six-foot-tall flower displays," Maggie says with a point. "But that was five minutes ago so they could be anywhere, really."

"Hey everyone," Jim says, coming up from behind and looking smart in a tux. Hallie, in a short, emerald-green grecian dress, is stunning right beside him. There's another round of air-kisses and, as the group shuffles to accommodate the additions, Sloan finds herself next to Hallie, with whom she's never interacted.

"How are you liking New York?" she finally asks. She knows … next to nothing about Hallie, or how long she's been in the city, or what's she doing. Does she have a job? Maybe she has a job.

"It's great!" Hallie smiles. "I'm working from home, which is a little strange, honestly. I'm not used to that much freedom. But otherwise it's great."

"That's great," Sloan says, finding she has nothing more to say. "When I was writing my thesis in graduate school, I worked alone a lot. It was fun."

"I need to go to the restroom. Anybody?" Maggie announces.

"I'm in," Hallie chimes, and quickly excuses herself.

Don appears at her shoulder. She smiles at him. "Let's go find Mac and Will," she says. While these people are lovely, they're coworkers, and not even the ones she's closest to. She wants Elliot and Charlie if she can't have Will and Kenzie. "I want to say hi to them. And test out some of my best lines on them."

"The first part sounds good," he says, as he watches Hallie and Maggie wander off. "That's really strange, right?" he asks as they leave.

"What? The two of them going to the bathroom together?"

"Yes."

"No stranger than me and Maggie being able to work together," she replies.

Don considers this. "No, it's stranger," he pronounces.

"How do you figure?"

"It's more of a 'keep your friends close, but your enemies closer' situation."

"You think Maggie and Hallie are enemies?"

He appraises her. "I just think it's strange."

"You remember you used to date Maggie, right? And I made a move on you when you two were dating? now we're perfectly friendly with her?" She feels absolutely zero jealousy or competition toward Maggie. She hasn't for ages, certainly not since long before she started to date Don. She likes Maggie. Most days, she barely remembers that Maggie and Don dated; that they had, in fact, dated for more than eighteen months, whereas she and Don are somewhere around … thirteen months together? Fourteen, depending on who is counting.

"Actually, barely. I barely remember that," he confesses. Alright. Him too. "And I'm not sure that was a 'move.'"

"It was totally a move. But I get along fine with Maggie," she points out. "I like Maggie."

"Yeah, because you have no reason to believe that I might have something going on with Maggie."

"And you think Jim and Maggie might have something going on, even though Jim and Hallie have been together for what? A year?" More than that, actually, she thinks. She's pretty sure they started dating a solid month or two before she and Don did.

"I think whatever Maggie and Jim had stopped before it got a chance to start, and that's much different than 'dated for a while and mutually saw it as a colossally bad idea.'"

"Maybe they're all just more evolved than you."

Don laughs uproariously at that.

They find Mac and Will then, finally. Mac looks positively gorgeous in a structured, tea-length black strapless dress with white edging and a large white bow peplumed off the right hip. Sloan would put money on it being either vintage Chanel or Dior. Will looks stupid-handsome in his best tux.

"I'm so glad you're here," Kenzie says, her tone betraying just a hint too much earnestness. Sloan cocks her head to study her, but Mac simply purses her lips and shakes her head. Oh. Kenzie waves over two older people who are the definition of "distinguished" — he's wearing a cummerbund and bowtie, while she's wearing earrings that look like they could be part of the crown jewels. "Mum, Dad, come here. I'd like you to meet two of our dearest friends, Sloan Sabbith, and her husband Don Keefer. I hired Don fifteen years ago to be my intern, and he used to work on Will's show before getting his own. And Sloan's ACN's senior financial correspondent and she's been absolutely indispensable planning all this. Don, Sloan, my parents, Sir Edwin and Lady Maureen McHale."

"Very nice to meet you," Sir Edwin says. The family resemblance between Kenzie and her dad is striking. "Sabbith, and you're a financial reporter — any relation to the economist Thomas Sabbith?"

Oh dear God. "He's my father actually," she smiles. "Do you know him?"

"We've had the good fortune to meet a few times at Davos," Sir Edwin says. Of course they met at Davos. "A very sharp thinker."

"He was my first and best teacher," she smiles.

"Yes, his beliefs on poverty reduction and the responsibilities of the First World throughout globalization are quite powerful," Sir Edwin smiles. "But you decided not to follow in his footsteps?"

"Dad, Sloan has two Ph.D.s in economics. She just got bored in the private sector," Kenzie interrupts.

Sloan smiles. "I think the study of economics is incredibly important, but most people are intimidated by it. I like the news because it allows me to — hopefully — explain to people why this field matters to them. And I keep an office at Columbia to do some teaching and research, so I get the best of both worlds."

"Very impressive," Edwin smiles. "Now, Don — how was my Mackenzie as a boss?"

As the two of them start trading Mac stories, Maureen smiles at Sloan. "Sloan, when did you have your wedding?"

"Just last year, actually. Still haven't even had our honeymoon," she smiles.

"No, I mean — congratulations, obviously, first — I meant the time of year. What month?"

"Oh. September," she smiles.

"September is a lovely month, Mackenzie," Maureen suggests. "You could get married then."

"Don and Sloan gave us eighteen hours' notice and got married at City Hall in front of thirty people," Mac smiles.

"That sounds … very low-stress," Maureen smiles calmly, not responding to her daughter's goading.

"I don't know about that. It was during Genoa, Benghazi, and the election. We'd gotten two hours of sleep the night before we got engaged. Pretty sure that had something to do with it," Sloan smiles, and Mac chokes on her drink a little bit. "But it was still lovely, and exactly what we wanted."

They chat briefly with Charlie, Nancy, Leona, Rebecca Halliday, and Reese, and she finds Chelsea and Marc and spends a solid twenty minutes catching up. Marc and Don get along reasonably well, which is always great, though he's still incredibly self-conscious around Chelsea's parents. They then head into the atrium, where rectangular tables are set up in a square pinwheel, not unlike the figures made on the old 'Snake' game she played on her old Nokia phone ten years ago. It's a bit of a maze, but beyond gorgeous: There's a lot of candlelight and calla lilies and crystal, and it's enough to make her stop walking temporarily to take it all in. Don wraps an arm around her middle and kisses her neck. "Pretty romantic," he murmurs into her ear.

"They did good," she agrees.

"There better be some dancing afterwards," he says.

Since she's got one of the three speeches, they're seated at the center table, with Mac and Will, their families (Will's sisters aren't particularly friendly-looking), and Charlie and Nancy. All the other tables spiral out from them. She sees Mayor Bloomberg take his seat next to Anthony, Huma, and the Clintons. Leonard Cohen is next to Brian Williams and Anderson Cooper. After drinks are poured and the first round of appetizers distributed, Mac's dad stands and welcomes everyone, making a small joke about how long it took them to get here, and talks about ten-year-old Kenzie's very specific thoughts on her own wedding day (it involved ponies). Charlie's up next, with four or five jokes and then a heartfelt "thank god you guys got it together" moment.

Then it's her. Don squeezes her hand, and she kisses his cheek swiftly before she stands. God, she hates public speaking. "Hi, everyone, I'm Sloan Sabbith, and I work at ACN with both Mackenzie and Will," she smiles. "And I also count them as two of my closest friends. While I have several stories that I could share, I'll keep that to a minimum today, for Will's sanity," there are a couple chuckles. "How we became friends, though, is illustrative, I think. When Kenzie first came back to ACN three years ago, she appointed me her best friend. I didn't really have a choice; in fact, I tried to get out of it. No luck, and thank god," she smiles. "Because I don't think I have a friend who is more honest or loyal. Whether it's attending my own wedding on literally ten hours notice or letting me actually say whatever I want about the economy on her show — though sometimes that's because she doesn't know the difference between micro- and macroeconomics — she's the type of twice-in-a-lifetime friend you want with you in a foxhole. Becoming friends with Will, though, that was significantly harder. We worked together for two years before he said something remotely personal to me. And I'm pretty sure the first personal thing he said to me was that I was an idiot. I'm not sure how I broke through to him, but I'm certainly grateful that I did. I'm not always sure he is, but I am. He's a mentor, but he's also a confidante and a friend, and I wouldn't be remotely close to where I am, professionally or personally, without him," she pauses and looks out. "If you're here, you probably know at least a big of the saga of Will and Mac. How they had to lose each other to find themselves, and how finding their way back to one another took longer than I think either of them would have liked. It was not nearly as romantic as it sounds. As someone who loved them both and wanted the best for them, it sometimes was painful to watch them feel their way toward each other; they were like the proverbial blind people, feeling the exact same thing but each determining it was something different. And they were so stubborn —"

"Get to the part where we don't sound like idiots!" Will calls out, faux-irritated. Everyone, including Sloan, laughs.

"Getting there," she says. "I promise. Anyways, one of the best things about the ACN newsroom is that, if you hang out there long enough, you learn a lot. Which isn't surprising; everyone is actually, generally pretty smart and decently well-educated. What is surprising is that you learn a lot about science — physics and astronomy and chemistry in particular — since we're all a bunch of nerds. Nobody was actually smart enough to hack a Ph.D. in astrophysics, but there are plenty of Carl Sagan wannabes. So one day I learned — I think it was from Charlie — about binary stars: Two stars who orbit each other. Not only do they spend their entire lifetimes dancing around and with each other, but their gravity, their actions, drive the other. They're interdependent, in the truest sense of the word. And because they are so closely entwined, their light is brighter than either would be alone. And that, to me, is kind of the essence of Will and Mac: constantly dancing with one another, driving each other's actions, and making each other shine brighter. So I'd like to raise a glass to Will and Mackenzie, in whose combined glow many of us are lucky to live." The room choruses, "to Will and Mackenzie," and she takes a triumphant seat.

"That was great," Don says with a smile and a hand-squeeze.

"Not bad, Sabbith," Will says gruffly.

"Try not to melt into a puddle of tears, bro," she smirks before giving him a kiss on his cheek.

The food is delicious, of course, two more courses followed by an assortment of desserts, and then a band strikes up for dancing and more cocktails. It's fancier than almost every wedding she has been to. Don, who secretly wants to be Fred Astaire, takes her out for a spin, but when they come off the dance floor, she notices Will talking with Chuck Schumer and RFK Junior. She casts her eyes around for Mac but can't find her. She checks with Kristin Gillibrand, Savannah and her boyfriend Mike, and freaking Lord John Marbury (who is actually a total ass), but they haven't seen her either. After a few more scans, she realizes that Mac is nowhere to be found.

Grabbing a bottle of champagne from a passing waiter (dear god they're seriously just handing out $200 bottles of Cristal), she goes down a few progressively darker and emptier hallways, searching for Kenzie. Nothing. She can barely hear the sounds of the party when she turns a corner to a wide hallway overlooking the courtyard and finally notices Mac, half in shadows, sitting down on the low steps to the garden and leaning against a railing. A martini is next to her.

"Surprised to find you out here," Sloan says lightly from behind her friend. Mac turns with a start. "You know, that whole party inside, all those people — they're here for you, you know that, right? They might start to miss you."

Mac smiles wanly. "Yes, Sloan, I am aware of that. I handled the invitation list."

She sits down next to Kenzie. She sets down the swiped bottle of champagne. "It's OK, we can hang out here, though. Make it a more exclusive thing."

Kenzie sighs and finishes her drink before tipping some champagne into the glass. "Good speech today."

"That's why they pay me the big bucks."

"Do they?"

"They pay me some of the bucks."

Kenzie laughs, before sighing deeply. "I know I should be in there, smiling and laughing —"

"And hanging out with your fiance," Sloan adds.

"And that."

"Is everything OK? Because I just made a speech that basically implied you're the most perfect soulmates, ever. And it was a speech not entirely divorced from reality."

Kenzie shifts again. "I wouldn't say 'perfect' but at this point I think we're the only people who can tolerate each other."

"That is also probably true. So what's bugging you?"

"It's not that I'm not excited to get married to Will —"

"Thank God for that," Sloan interjects. The situation desperately needs some levity, because it is going south, fast. "That ring is expensive. At least twice as much as mine," she ribs.

"Shut up, and stop interrupting. I am excited to get married. I'm so excited. It's all I've ever wanted for … ages. Seriously. Ages. But everyone — led by my mother — just wants to know one thing: When are we getting married? And every time they ask when the wedding is, I … seize up," Kenzie shakes her head. "I freeze. I don't know, and I don't care. I don't have any opinion on flowers, I don't know how many people we'll want to invite, and god knows I don't want three hundred-fifty. I don't know if I want to get married in the spring or in the fall. I never thought I would have a wedding; more importantly, I never thought we would have a wedding. And I can't help but wonder if, after nine years, we're rushing it." Mac looks absolutely miserable as she slides a hand over the right side of her face.

Sloan wonders, not for the first time, if she's in over her head, being friends with Kenzie. Like she said, they'd bonded instantly, once Mac appointed Sloan her best friend: Both understood being raised abroad and in high-pressure families; both worked harder than they needed to in life; both were excellent at their jobs but a bit wreck-y in their personal lives, and not in an adorable, rom-com way. But Kenzie — just like Don, funnily enough — has a fierce and abiding guilt complex. Both have a surprisingly deep pessimism that they disguise well with sarcasm and competency but is always just a little bit beyond Sloan's comprehension. They both punish themselves unnecessarily for their mistakes while allowing others leeway and grace. Neither views a happy ending as something they deserve and should pursue; instead, both of them have a sort of smug acceptance about the inevitability of bad things happening. Don's changed since they got together; he openly cares more, he tries. That's always enough for her, though she knows at his core he's always prepared for the other shoe to drop. (If she has a problem with not expecting too much, Don has the problem of expecting too little.) And Kenzie might be exuberantly hopeful about America and journalism and human nature but she came back and took two and a half years of Will's bullshit when all reason and logic dictated she should have moved on and told him fuck you on the way out. She may have stayed partly out of love for Will and partly due to loyalty to Charlie, sure, but Sloan's pretty sure 90 percent of the reason why was self-inflicted punishment.

She wonders if Kenzie was this way before the breakup, before her self-imposed exile to the Middle East, before whatever traumas she experienced there. Don would know. Don knew her beforehand, knew Mac-and-Will One-point-oh. She should ask him. But now, she's here and he's not.

"I mean, you went from kinda hating each other's guts to engaged in five minutes," Sloan says. "It's OK if you want to get used to sharing a bathroom again."

"Sloan, we're hiding out during a 350-person engagement party at the MOMA. All of these people are asking perfectly reasonable questions. And it's perfectly reasonable for them to expect answers to these questions."

"So you say you don't know, and you're looking forward to getting a chance to plan it."

"And then what? What if I don't want to plan it?"

"You will. Eventually. You might not want all this … frippery —"

"Frippery?"

"Don likes to show off his 780 verbal, OK? It rubs off."

Kenzie laughs, and then says, "I don't think I want to."

"Get married?"

"No — I think I want that. I definitely think I want that. After all this time, I should, and I do. But … It just seems off. Too fast, maybe? For crying out loud, eight weeks ago he fired me. And now we're throwing an engagement party that costs more than 100 grand at the MOMA."

"Yeah. It's a lot to adjust to," she muses, then waits a beat. "Have you talked to Will?"

"Are you kidding me? He's so worried about me leaving now that if I bring it up, he'll react poorly," Mac sighs.

"I dunno. I've heard open communication is something to value in a relationship."

"You know, I'm beginning to see Jim's point that you two are smug about the whole perfect relationship thing."

"We don't have anywhere close to a perfect relationship, and you of all people know that," Sloan rebukes. "The only thing we have going for us is that we're boring."

"True. And relatively good-looking. That probably doesn't hurt," Mac says, then sighs. "Do I have to go back in?"

"No, it's your party so you can do what you want," Sloan says. She's freezing, though, so she hopes Kenzie chooses inside. "Just — remember. When he asked you to marry him, when he stood in front of you with a stupidly large ring and said, This is it, forever — you said yes. Sometimes, the first reaction is the right one."

Mac sighs and pulls herself up by the railing. "You and your wisdom," she grumbles.

"So you'll appreciate this," she says as they start to head in. "Don wants to get a dog."

"You should totally get a dog!" Mac says. "You're the only people I know who can get a dog; nobody else is responsible enough. Including me and Will, you just heard my entire crisis of confidence. Please get a dog and name him Rufus. He should be shaggy."

"Do you not — oh wait, you don't," she remembers.

"What?"

"I asked you about this already — you telling me to move in with Don so that we could get a dog, that's how we ended up getting engaged."

"I have absolutely no recollection of this," Mac says decisively. "Though I have claimed credit for you two getting together for years."

"I know."

"Do you not want a dog?"

"Kenz, I know we just got over that we're boring and attractive, but I'm still figuring out how to be married. And we have an apartment to renovate. We just got a working kitchen, and I don't think we're ready. And the worst part is that I've told Don all this, and he totally gets it — and he still thinks we're ready for a dog."

"So? You probably can handle a dog."

"Well, yes, but are we ready? Do I want a dog?"

"If you don't want a dog, you should say no."

"It's complicated."

"No it's not. Didn't you just tell me that sometimes you've got to say yes?"

She stops and furrows her brow. "Don't turn my words against me, Kenzie," she mocks.

"Why wouldn't you want a dog? They're adorable, lovable, easier to deal with than a partner most of the time and — oh."

"What?"

"It's just, a dog, they're the gateway."

"It's not pot, Kenzie, it's a dog."

"No, not the gateway drug, the gateway to kids."

"No they're not."

"Sloan, I've read two women's magazines in my life, and I think I can confidently say that everyone else, besides you and me, knows that dogs are the gateway to children. Don wants kids."

"Yes, in the future, but don't be ridiculous."

"Alright," Kenzie smirks. "Get the dog then."

"I told you, it's been four months, four very busy months —"

"Say yes, Sloan," Kenzie's smirk widens.

"Fine. I'm looking forward to attending your 500-person society wedding this June," Sloan retorts. They're back inside, with the lights and the candles and the milling people and the warmth.

"Bite me," Kenzie says, merry at having the tables turned.

"Gladly," Will says.

"Ew," Sloan says.

He kisses her lightly. "Where'd you two get off to?"

"I needed air. And girl talk," Kenzie says honestly. "I'm sorry for abandoning you."

"No worries," Will says. "Sloan, Don is looking for you."

"He found me," she smiles as he approaches with another glass of champagne.

They dance and drink the night away, finally tumbling into bed slightly after three and falling asleep immediately. The next morning, she considers waking him up for sex, but decides on a run instead (When she comes home to him making eggs in his boxer, then she jumps him.). As they're enjoying the cold omelettes, she says, "Maybe we should go to that dog rescue and look at dogs today."

"You sure?" he says, surprised. "You've seemed kind of …"

"Kind of what?"

"Ambivalent?"

"I'm not; I like dogs. It's just … last night, Kenzie said that dogs were gateways."

"Gateways to what? Love and happiness and unadulterated adoration and acceptance?"

"No, Timmy Martin. To kids."

"Oh. I would like to first point out that Mac's marrying Will, so I already have qualms about her judgement."

"Point Keefer," she says, because it's true. "But … It's not some precursor to kids?"

"Well, first, I thought we did want kids? In a bit. We just discussed this, like, last night."

"Right. By the time you're 40. It's not a, you know, a dog this year, kids next year, a house in Westchester the next?"

"OK, never a house in Westchester," he says.

"Good."

"Elliot would mock me too much."

"Well, you've made fun of them a lot over the past four years."

"Rightfully so, though. And Sloan, a kid by 40, is what I said. In a while. The dog is … because they're fun. I had one growing up, and they're great, and I think having a dog is the type of thing we can do, together, right now. Not like a … gateway, or whatever ridiculous term Mac used."

"OK," she considers, then decides to take her own advice. "Let's go look, today."

"You sure? I don't want you going all, 'your dog shit on the floor' like it's not a joint thing, in two months."

"I said look, not adopt immediately," she says. "But yeah. That rescue's out on Long Island, right? We can take your car."

"It's our car now, you know."

"Fine. You're driving our car."

While she insisted they were just looking, as soon as she saw Clementine — the year-old poodle/golden retriever/Irish setter mix whose owners had moved to Australia — she immediately changed her mind. The overgrown puppy had a curly, medium-apricot coat, with patches of gold and cream on her breastbone and face, and white paws. "Can we keep her?" she asks, entranced, as the dog licks her hands and face.

"You sure?" Don says with a smirk. "It could be a gateway, you know."

She turns to the shelter manager plaintively. "Please? Can we take her home right now?"

"You don't want to think an extra day?" Don checks, seriously worried about her one-eighty.

She shakes head. "Sometimes, you gotta say yes, Don," she smiles.