We started assembling the crib in the spare room that was slowly becoming a nursery.
Kei read the directions out loud while I held pieces steady.
“Step four: insert dowel A into slot B. Christ, who writes these?”
I laughed so hard I almost dropped the side rail.
He grinned. “You okay over there, preggo?”
“Shut up. You’re the one who can’t tell left from right.”
We worked for almost two hours. Joking. Teasing. At one point he told me about growing up with Syd...how her dad used to disappear for weeks, how she’d cry herself to sleep on his couch because her mom was working doubles.
“We've been cleaning up her messes since we were twelve,” he said quietly, tightening a screw. “Feels like habit now. Obligation. Doesn’t mean I like it.”
I handed him another screw. “You don’t have to keep doing it.”
He shrugged. “Yeah. I know. But knowing and doing are different.”
I watched him. Steady hands. Calm voice. No chaos behind his eyes.
“You’re a good friend, Kei.”
He glanced up. “Trying to be.”
We finished the crib. Stepped back. It looked… real. Solid.
“Thanks,” I said. “For today. For everything.”
He smiled, small, genuine. “Anytime, Hads.”
The front door opened.
Cal.
He walked in, stopped in the doorway of the nursery. Saw us standing there, me smiling, Kei wiping sawdust off his hands, the crib half-made, boxes everywhere.
His face didn’t change. Not really.
But something in his eyes flattened.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” I replied.
Kei nodded. “We got the crib up. Almost done.”
Cal looked at it. Then at me. Then at Kei.
“Cool.”
One word. Flat.
Kei glanced between us. “I should head out. Early session tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Cal said. “Thanks for helping.”
Kei squeezed my shoulder once, light, friendly. “Text me if you need anything else.”
