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FOX

I’ve been in Finn’s apartment long enough to have settled into a rhythm.

I know which knives are the best for chopping vegetables. I know Finn’s hot water takes over a minute to actually get hot, but it’s slower in the kitchen than it is in the bathroom. I know that if I sit in the armchair by the window at the right time of day, the light catches the edge of the bookshelf, and I can read without a lamp until about three-thirty.

By any reasonable measure, I should be climbing the walls.

I’ve spent twenty-five years on tour. My tolerance for enclosed spaces is practically legendary. The band has a running joke that if you put me in a hotel room for more than twelve hours, I start rearranging the furniture, and there’s some truth to it.

But I’m not climbing the walls. I’m not even mildly bothered.

I’m making lasagna.

The kitchen smells like garlic, onions, and tomatoes cooking down slowly. I’ve had the ragù on the stove for two hours. The béchamel is ready. The pasta sheets are draining in the sink. The salad is prepped and the garlic bread sticks are ready to go in the oven at the end, just to warm up.

I’m about to assemble the lasagna when my phone buzzes on the counter.

I check it, expecting Nikko, and see my sister’s name instead.

I answer on the second ring, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder as I start layering.

“You are absolutely going to lose the best uncle contest,” Nina says by way of greeting. “I hope you know that.”

“Hello to you too, Nina.”

“Ari recognizes Nikko now. She lit up when he walked in this morning. Lit up. He’s ahead by a mile.”

“It’s a little unhinged to be pitting your brothers against each other for your daughter’s affection, Nina.”

“I’m not pitting you against each other. I’m training my future babysitters. Only one of you can be the favorite. It’s motivational.”

“Are you offering me a chance to catch up?”

“You could get on a plane. You could hold your niece, and she might light up for you too. Or she might not because you have been suspiciously absent for two weeks now, and Nikko has been eating dinner here almost every night.”

“He’s sponging off you and using your daughter as an excuse.”

“Don’t underestimate a sleep-deprived new mother and her ability to cook for the privilege of taking a bath. Now, where are you actually?”

I stop layering the pasta, wipe my hands on a towel, take the phone off my shoulder, and hold it properly in my hand.

“Vermont.”

There’s a small, sharp silence.

“Vermont, Foster?”

“You heard right.”

“Are you with him?”

“Nina.”

“Are you with Finn?”

“Yes, of course I am. Where else would I be in Vermont?”

She lets out a laugh that’s more delighted than surprised, and I brace myself. Nina is the only person on earth who knows about Finn. She has since the third year of whatever we’ve been doing. She caught me on a phone call once. I panicked, and she’s never let it go.