Page 18 of Lose You Twice

There has been an adjustment to your aid package.

Such a polite way for them to say “you’re fucked.”

I pull into the driveway and sit for half a second too long.

Lily leans between the seats. “Are we home?”

“No, this is someone else’s house.”

Daisy gasps. “Really? It looks just like ours.”

“No,” Lily says. “She’s being sarcastic.”

Daisy looks at me with admiration. “You’re good at that.”

“Thank you. It’s my most marketable skill,” I say, hopping out and heading toward the house.

Inside, it somehow seems messier than when we left it this morning. Then again, we were basically a walking tornado when we left.

I drop my bag by the door and immediately pick it back up, because if I leave it there, someone will trip over it, and somehow I’ll be the bad guy.

“Backpacks on hooks,” I tell the twins. “Shoes in the basket. I’ll get you a snack, and you can have it at the table. Worksheets before any screens.”

Daisy freezes halfway through taking off her jacket. “We have to do those right now?”

“Yes.”

“But I’m tired.” She pouts, giving me her best puppy dog eyes.

Lucky for me, I’ve become immune. “Same, girl. Same.”

Lily takes her folder out with solemn obedience. “We have math.”

Daisy groans but gets her paper out of her backpack and takes a seat at the table.

I set them up at the kitchen table with apple slices, peanut butter, crackers, and a bowl of pretzels that will absolutely be gone in the ten minutes it will take them to complete their worksheets. Then I plug my phone in, wash my hands, and open the fridge.

There are leftovers. Technically.

Half a container of pasta. Two chicken breasts. Some lettuce wilting away just like I feel I am, a jar of pickles, and just enough yogurt cups for the twins’ lunches for the rest of the week.

Dinner can be pasta with chicken.

Again.

I can call it “garlic chicken penne” if I add enough seasoning and lie with confidence.

My phone buzzes from the counter.

Harlow: How did financial aid go?

I stare at the text.

Wren: Super fun. Love bureaucracy. Thinking of marrying it.

Three dots appear immediately.

Harlow: That awful?