No excuse was attached to it.
Tessa looked down again.
“Okay.”
That was all she said.
Their mother left a few minutes later.
I locked the door behind her, then went straight back to the kids instead of standing there replaying the confrontation.
Miles needed a bottle.
Tessa needed dinner.
The house needed to become boring again.
That night, boring felt like a luxury.
After Miles fell asleep, Tessa stayed at the kitchen table while I made her something simple to eat.
She kept watching me as if she expected another question.
Finally she said, “Am I old enough to watch him?”
I knew what she was really asking.
Was this something she had failed at?
“You’re old enough to help with him when an adult is here,” I said. “You can make him laugh. You can hand me wipes. You can sit beside him while I’m making dinner. But you are not responsible for being his parent.”
She picked at the edge of her napkin.
