“Susan needs another feeding in a couple of hours. I don’t want to wake you.”
There it was again.
The same habit.
The same mistake.
“Greg.”
He stopped.
“Ask me.”
He stared at me.
Then he tried again.
“Would you mind if I kept the kittens’ setup downstairs?”
“No.”
“And would you mind if I came back upstairs between feedings?”
I pointed at the pillow tucked beneath his arm.
“That’s where that belongs.”
His mouth twitched.
“Right.”
Before dawn, his alarm vibrated.
Greg sat up.
“Four o’clock.”
I opened one eye.
He hesitated for a second.
Then he asked,
“Want to come keep me company?”
“Yeah.”
Downstairs, Greg settled into the old rocking chair.
Susan and Steve were tucked together inside Michael’s faded blue blanket.
I sat beside him holding a mug of coffee.
Susan squeaked.
