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“No way! Seriously? You’re so tall; I thought you were older.”
He ventures one step down towards me, and all I can think is,Progress. “Your name’s funny.”
Taylor starts to scold him, but I flash her a smile so she knows it’s okay. “Yeah, you’re right. It kinda is. I guess I’m used to it now.”
He giggles, then he glances at his mother. “Are you really Mama’s friend? ‘Cause Mama doesn’t have any friends.”
“Adam!” Taylor exclaims, flushing an even brighter shade of pink. “I have friends.”
“Only Grandpa, and he doesn’t count because he’s your dad.”
“What about Mabel?”
“She doesn’t count because she’s your boss.”
“What about Miss Maisel?”
“She doesn’t count because she’s my teacher, and you only meet her at school.”
“You’re my friend,” Taylor insists.
Adam giggles. “I’m your son. I don’t count.”
The boy makes no mention of Callan, which is quietly satisfying. Motion at the periphery draws my attention. I glance toward the house in time to catch sight of a shadow at the window.
Of course.He’swatching.
“Adam, sweetheart,” Taylor says. “Remember how I tell you stories sometimes about your aunt Celine?”
So she talks about Celine. Interesting.
Adam bobs his head up and down. “Yeah?”
“This is her husband. They’re married.”
He frowns. I want to frown along with him and set a few things straight, but I also want to avoid scaring him. “Oh,” he says, turning to me. “Did you bring Auntie Cee with you?”
“Not this time.”
He seems confused by that. “Where is she?”
“At home. We don’t live in this state.”
“Oh. Why hasn’t she come to see us?” Adam asks.
“Because she’s very busy,” Taylor says, jumping in before I can answer. “And who knows? Maybe you’ll meet her soon.”
“Does she bake cookies, too?” he asks, a smile growing on his sweet face.
Taylor nods. “Grandma taught us, so yes, she does. Or at least…she did.”
Adam looks between us. “I hope I get to be as tall as you one day,” he announces. Then he turns to his mother. “I knew he wasn’t your friend. He’s my uncle.”
I pretend as if that doesn’t land like a sucker punch.
Taylor glances at me. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”
“Hey,” Adam says, jumping off the last step and tugging on my hand. His fingers are gritty with cookie crumbs. “Wanna see my tire swing?”
