I paused mid-bite. “Exploded.”
“With vomit,” Bianca clarified.
“Important distinction, sweetheart.”
“I think it’s going around,” CJ added. “Half the sixth graders were out.”
I made a mental note to buy more disinfectant wipes.
When my phone buzzed, I realized what time it was. Jade’s sister, Amethyst, always called at the same time every week. She was a busy woman, but she never missed her chance to catch up with the kids. I handed the phone to CJ.
“Is it Aunt Amethyst?” he asked.
I nodded and the kids scrambled around my phone.
“Well, hello, my favorite gremlins,” Amethyst greeted as soon as CJ answered on speaker.
“You always say we’re your favorites,” Bianca pointed out.
“That’s because you’re the only ones willing to laugh at my jokes.”
Billie puffed out her chest. “I laugh the most.”
“You certainly do. Now tell me everything. Has your father accidentally set the kitchen on fire this week?”
I scoffed as Winnie hid her smile. Together, we carried plates to the sink while the kids launched into three different stories at once. CJ insisted on describing his homework in great detail; Bianca interrupted to talk about the historical inaccuracies in the book she was reading; Billie loudly informed her aunt that even though I’d burned breakfast, the pancakes had been “somewhat successful.”
Amethyst somehow kept up with all three conversations at once, laughing at exactly the right moments and asking questions in between. I caught Winnie smiling to herself as she rinsed the dishes, listening to the cheerful chaos behind us.
After their call, the kids and I built a blanket fort in the family room for the movie we were going to watch. We asked Winnie to join us, but she insisted on finishing the kitchen cleanup. Somehow, I had become the kind of father who willingly spent forty minutes engineering structural support for couch cushions.
Honestly? It was a great use of my time.
Inside the fort, Billie fell asleep halfway through a movie with her feet in my lap. Bianca regaled us all about the director’s technique and why he chose that specific lighting for that specific scene, until CJ started talking over her, intent on telling a story about a haunted piano and the cursed orchestra that played in Carnegie Hall after it was closed to the public. Winnie listened to all this with complete seriousness that made him beam from the inside out.
And every single time I looked at my children that week, they looked lighter.
Still grieving. Still complicated. Still themselves.
But lighter.
After everyone was finally upstairs for the night, Winnie stood by the door, searching for her keys in her purse. I leaned against the wall watching her. Watching her had become a problem, not that she encouraged it in any way. Actually, the opposite. Winnie remained utterly professional with me, jokes and riddles notwithstanding. Her demeanor was warm but measured. Kind without inviting interpretation.
Unfortunately, that only made her more noticeable.
“You survived the first week,” I said.
“So did you.”
I shrugged. “That’s still up for debate.”
Her mouth curved slightly. “I believe,” she said, taking a step onto the porch, “you still owe me the answer to this morning’s riddle.”
I frowned immediately. “The one about what has many keys but can’t open a lock?”
“Yes.”
“I know this one.”
