Pride hit me square in the chest. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. But... stay close?"
"Always."
I left the door cracked, went to make coffee, - weak, instant, the cheap stuff that tasted like regret but kept me moving. While the kettle hissed, I heard the water slosh, heard him humming one of his train songs under his breath. Normal. Ordinary. Mine.
When he came out wrapped in the too-big towel with trains on it, hair dripping, I helped him dry off without making it obvious I was helping. He hated feeling babied. Lately he'd started saying "I'm thirteen, Hadley. I'm not a baby." Fair enough.
We got dressed- me in jeans, old Converse, a plain black tee under a flannel. Eli in khaki shorts, polo shirt tucked in neat, sneakers he'd scrubbed clean himself last week. Perfectionist. Always had been.
We grabbed our things- my cleaning caddy, his little push mower we'd bought secondhand- and headed out. The complex was quiet except for kids yelling somewhere down the block. We walked the mile and a half to the bus stop because the fare saved us gas money we didn't have.
On the bus, Eli sat by the window, counting license plates out loud. "Nevada, Nevada, California, Arizona..."
I leaned my head on his shoulder. "You excited for today?"
"Mowing is good. Straight lines make me calm."
"I know."
The family we cleaned for lived in Summerlin- big house, big driveway, big pool nobody used. Mrs. Delgado always left cash in an envelope on the kitchen counter, plus extra if we did the patio furniture. She never hovered. Just waved from the window sometimes.
Eli started on the lawn while I went inside. Vacuum, dust, scrub toilets that looked like they'd never been used. I worked fast, efficient. Muscle memory. Eli finished the front yard perfect- stripes like a baseball field- then moved to the back. I watched him through the sliding glass door for a second. Head down, focused, pushing steady. He didn't wave. Didn't need to. We both knew he was okay.
By two we were done. Mrs. Delgado added an extra twenty. "Your brother's a hard worker," she said.
"He is."
"Tell him thank you."
"I will."
We took the bus home, tired but good tired. Eli fell asleep against my arm halfway there. I didn't move him.
Back at the apartment, we kicked off our shoes, washed up, and started our Saturday ritual. Grocery run first- cheap chicken thighs, rice, frozen broccoli, a loaf of bread on sale. Eli pushed the cart, checked prices like a pro. "This one's cheaper by twelve cents," he said about the rice.
"Get it."
Home again. I put him in charge of rice while I seasoned the chicken. He measured exactly one cup, leveled it with a knife, poured it into the pot without spilling a grain. Perfectionist.
We ate at the card table, TV on low- some random cooking show neither of us cared about. Then we moved to the couch. Eli picked a nature documentary about trains in Japan. I didn't argue. We watched three episodes back-to-back, me with my feet up, him curled against my side.
Around five I checked my phone. Zariah had texted twice.
Z: You still coming???
Z: Doors at 6:30. Meet me at the east entrance. VIP babyyyy
I sighed. Looked at Eli.
"Time for me to get ready," I said.
He tensed. "You're leaving?"
"Just for a few hours. Mara's coming."
"I don't like Mara. She talks too loud."
