“A weekend where?” I asked.
“Just down at the lake, or maybe the coast,” he said, taking a sip of the hot coffee. “Nothing crazy. Just a couple of nights.”
“We have a pediatric appointment on Thursday morning,” I said, my voice dropping into that quiet, deliberate tone. “It is their six-month checkup.”
“I know when the appointment is, Shannon,” he said, his voice tightening as he set the mug down. “I do not need a calendar lesson.”
He stood up, carrying his mug toward the living room, leaving his empty plate on the table.
By ten, my mother, Clara, was sitting on the floor of the nursery, her cardigan collar tucked neatly under her chin as she sorted tiny socks.
“You look like you did not sleep a single hour, Shannon,” she said, her voice carrying that soft, steady authority she always used when she was worried.
“Luna was up at three, and Bodhi was coughing,” I said, folding a faded yellow sleep sack. “I feel like I am just a ghost moving things from one room to another.”
Clara stopped her hands, looking up at me with her brow furrowed.
