Page 87 of The Art of Ruin

She continues talking, filling the space easily, moving from one topic to the next without pause, and I listen, responding where necessary, letting the conversation settle into something familiar.

From the corner of my eye, I’m aware of movement on the bed.

Casey has turned slightly, not toward the call but not away from it either, her attention clearly following the conversation even if she isn’t part of it.

At one point, Letty says something that doesn’t entirely make sense, and I correct her automatically.

Casey smiles. It’s small, brief, but real.

She doesn’t realize I’ve noticed it.

That’s the part that holds my attention longer than it should.

The ease of it.

The way it isn’t forced.

I find myself wanting to see it over and over again. To share these quiet moments of joy about something silly my daughter says, with someone in an intimate way.

I finish the call, letting Letty go when she inevitably gets distracted by something else, and set the phone down without drawing attention to the fact that the room feels different now.

Quieter again.

But not in the same way as before.

“You’re very deliberate with her,” Casey says after a moment, her voice quieter now, less observational and more… considered.

I look up from the screen. “Deliberate?”

“With Letty,” she clarifies, shifting slightly against the cushions. “The way you talk to her. The way you correct her without making her feel like she’s done something wrong.”

“She responds better that way,” I say finally.

“That’s not the point,” she replies, her gaze steady on me. “Most people don’t take the time to figure that out.”

“Most people create unnecessary problems by not being consistent or paying attention.”

She huffs a quiet breath at that, something almost like a laugh. “See, that,” she says, gesturing faintly toward me, “is exactly what I mean. You make it sound like a system.”

“It is a system.”

“She’s not a system.”

“No,” I agree. “She’s a variable within it.”

That earns me a look.

A proper one this time.

“You hear yourself, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t think that’s… a little terrifying?”

“It’s effective.”

She studies me for a second longer, like she’s trying to decide whether I’m serious or just impossible on principle.