Almost.
Chapter Two
Calling in Reinforcements
Archer
Lily is naked.
Not partially. Fully, completely, standing-in-the-kitchen-with-her-arms-out naked.
“Lily. We need clothes.”
“NO.”
“Lil—”
“NO CLOTHES.” She stamps one bare foot on the tile. Her bottom lip juts out. This is a hill she’s prepared to die on.
Luke is at the table, eating dry Cheerios one at a time and watching his sister with zero concern. He’s fully dressed—shirt, pants, shoes on the right feet, which is more than I managed yesterday.
“Luke, help me out here.”
He looks at Lily. Looks at me. Then goes back to his cereal.
Thanks, buddy.
I check my phone. 10:14. Sydney’s flight lands in less than an hour, and the house looks like it’s been robbed by someone who only wanted to scatter toys and leave half-eaten food on every surface.
I told her I’d pick her up at the airport and I meant it.
But Lily is naked, and Luke just knocked over his water. There’s no scenario in the next forty-five minutes where I clean the house and get two three-year-olds into a car and across the city to JFK on time.
I text her, knowing she might not see it until she lands.
Me:Can’t make the airport. I’m sorry. Can you grab an Uber?
Sydney:No problem. See you soon.
Sydney:How bad is it?
Me:Lily is naked and singing about frogs.
Sydney:Don’t worry.Backup is on the way.
I put the phone down and look at my kitchen. The breakfast dishes. The toys on the floor. The pile of unopened mail on the counter. The permission slip I forgot to sign last week. There’s a sippy cup under the couch that I’m pretty sure has been there for three days, and I’m choosing not to investigate what’s inside it because whatever it is, it won’t improve my morning.
Bree moved out in April. Five months ago now, but it feels longer because the marriage was over long before she packed her bags. We spent almost two years sharing a house and separate bedrooms, moving around each other like polite roommates who happened to be raising the same children. She stayed for the twins—we both told ourselves that—and when the season ended, she sat me down and said it was time.
I didn’t argue. There was nothing left to argue about.
The summer was fine. We split custody, and it was the offseason. No travel, no games—just me and the twins, figuring out what our life looked like without her in the next room. We found a rhythm. It worked.
Now the season starts in three weeks, and that rhythm is about to fall apart. Morning skates, road trips, late games—the schedule that swallowed my marriage is about to swallow myability to parent alone. I need someone here. I need help. I thought about hiring someone, but that felt… I don’t know.
Instead, I called Sydney.
I’m running on four hours of sleep, I can’t remember the last time I ate something that wasn’t standing over the kitchen sink, and now I’m kneeling in front of Lily’s chair. “Lil, I need you to pick one outfit. Just one. Any outfit. Your choice.”
