Derby mutters, “Everybody’s a comedian.”
Sophie looks at him. “You look terrible.”
“Good morning to you too, rich girl.”
“You slept in a chair.”
“I’ve slept in worse.”
“That isn’t the argument you think it is.”
He gives her a look.
She gives it right back.
I watch them, fascinated despite myself. Derby is rough with her, teasing in a way that would have made me tense in Jeremy’s house. Jeremy never liked women talking back unless he could turn the room against them afterward. But Sophie doesn’t tense. Derby doesn’t punish her for the jab. No one is keeping score.
It’s banter.
Just banter.
I remember banter.
I used to be good at it, before every word became evidence.
Sophie sets the tray on the dresser and looks at me. Her gaze flicks over my face, my borrowed clothes, the bed, August, the door, Derby’s chair in the hallway. She reads the room like she read it last night.
“Did you sleep at all?” she asks.
“A little.”
“Good.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t come downstairs. I should have…”
“No.” Sophie says it gently but firmly enough that I stop. “You should have slept beside your son. That is what you did.”
I nod because arguing feels rude and because she is right.
August climbs out of bed and heads for the food. I catch him before he grabs the plate with both hands.
“Bathroom first.”
“But eggs.”
“Bathroom.”
He groans like I’ve asked him to file taxes.
Sophie smiles. “There’s a toothbrush in the bathroom. I left a kid one, but it has glitter on it because it’s what Lottie found in a drawer downstairs.”
August looks horrified. “Glitter?”
Derby says, “Terrifying.”
“It’s blue glitter,” Sophie says.
August considers that. “Okay.”