“What did Ryan say when you asked him to take the early shift?” she asked.
“He said we are both tired,” I said, pulling another small blanket from the plastic basket.
“He is stressed about the bills, Mom,” I said, trying to find an excuse that sounded believable even to myself.
“The bills do not hold the bottles at three in the morning,” Clara said, adjusting the collar of her cardigan as she looked toward the door.
Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Ryan appeared in the nursery doorway, holding his car keys in his hand.
“I am heading out to run some errands,” he said, looking at Clara and then at me. “And I wanted to let you know I booked my share of the beach house.”
The nursery became completely quiet, save for the faint hum of the traffic on the main road.
“What beach house?” I asked, my hands freezing on the small pile of laundry.
“The trip with the guys,” Ryan said, checking his reflection in the dark screen of his phone. “It is next weekend. I paid my deposit this morning.”
