Page 81 of Insidious

And just like that, my anchor drives away.

***

The house is different without Mum. Awkwardness creeps in as I start chopping vegetables for snacks.

Amelie is on her mat in the living room, kicking her legs like she’s discovered something miraculous about them. She chortles like a bubbling brook.

Three months old.

A glass appears in front of me.

I blink and look sideways at Isaac.

He’s nodding at me as if he expects me to follow his cue.

It’s thick. And purple. And there is a lot of it.

I am finding it suss.

“What’s in that?” I ask, somehow reminded of frog legs and chicken intestines going into a witch’s cauldron.

Even as I ask, I slowly nudge it away.

He notices and nudges it back.

“Milk. Banana. Oats. Blueberries. Flaxseeds. Peanut butter. You’re breastfeeding …”

“Some of the time,” I interject.

“Yeah,” he says easily. “You still need to replenish.”

I sigh, already irritated. “Don’t you have work?”

“Yes.” But he doesn’t move. “In a minute.”

His arms fold, waiting for me to try it.

“Drink. I have tested it. It’s not radioactive.”

I stare at him, hoping that will make him back off. He doesn’t move.

I take the glass like I’m doing him a favour and take a cautious sip—

It’s actually good, which is deeply annoying.

I scowl at him.

“Finish it.”

“You’re very bossy. It’s not a good look on you,” I grumble.

“You’re very stubborn. And it’s a very hot look on you,” he shoots back.

I roll my eyes, hiding how those words make a tiny thrill run through me, and I drink.

And he stays here until the glass is empty. Only then does he nod, like I’ve passed some sort of test, and head downstairs to the office, already opening his laptop—but not before he kisses me quickly on my cheek and backs off before I can take a swipe at him. He is faster than a kamikaze pilot.

***