Page 45 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

“A reasonable combination of both.”

“That sounds suspiciously flexible.”

“It isn’t.”

She hums, unconvinced, and moves on.

I show her the pantry, where things are kept, the family room, Oliver’s bathroom, the laundry room, and the service entrance she’ll almost never need to use but should know exists.

When we reach Oliver’s room, he darts ahead of us and begins explaining things himself.

“My planes go here,” he says, gesturing to the shelves. “Those are books I still like. Those are books I used to like. Captain isn’t allowed on the bed, but he does it anyway. If the night light flickers, it means it’s unplugged behind the dresser.”

Addy nods, happily being briefed on her mission. “Understood. High stakes.”

He points to a drawing on the wall. “That one’s from school.”

“It’s good.”

“It’s a runway.”

“I could tell.”

He studies her, trying to determine if she’s telling the truth or being kind.

Apparently, he decides in her favor.

Good.

We continue.

By the time we return to the main living area, Captain has fully reassigned his loyalties and is following Addy closely enough to risk collision every time she changes direction. Oliver,though less obvious in his attachment, remains nearby as well, continuing to ask questions that are really assessments in disguise.

I stand slightly apart and watch.

Addy is crouched near the coffee table now, helping Oliver reconstruct some unnecessarily complicated aircraft model while Captain rests his head against her knee as if this arrangement has existed for years.

She doesn’t look out of place.

That’s the problem.

Or perhaps the solution.

I haven’t decided which.

The apartment's quiet except for Oliver’s voice, Addy’s occasional responses, Captain’s contented sighs, and something else I haven’t heard in this space for some time.

Ease.

I don’t trust it.

But I notice it.

Addy says something I don’t catch. Oliver answers with unexpected seriousness, and she laughs softly, not at him, but with him, which is a distinction many adults fail to understand.

My phone vibrates.

I look down.