“Can you grab the other side of this?” I asked, stopping at the top of the stairs to catch my breath. “My left wrist is still sore from carrying Soleil all afternoon.”
I rubbed my left wrist where my watch used to be, a habit I could not seem to shake since the leather strap had broken three weeks ago.
Ryan did not turn around from the closet hanger. He adjusted the collar of a blue button-down shirt, checking the seam.
“I am right in the middle of packing, Shannon,” he said, his voice flat and defensive. “If I do not organize this now, it will all be wrinkled by the time we land.”
“It is just one basket,” I said.
He pulled a gray polo shirt from the hanger and laid it carefully inside the suitcase, smoothing the sleeves with the flat of his hand.
“You have to learn to manage your time better,” he said.
“I have been managing three infants alone since six this morning,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
He zipped the small mesh pocket inside the suitcase lid, the metal teeth clicking sharply in the quiet hallway.
