The snack becomes dinner because August eats more than I expect, and I eat because Derby stands there pretending not to watch until I do. Afterward, he washes the skillet badly. I rewash it when he turns his back. He catches me and looks offended.
“I cleaned that.”
“You threatened it with water.”
“It was cleaner than before.”
“That isn’t the same as clean.”
He mutters something about women invading and standards rising.
August yawns so wide his whole face disappears.
“Bed,” I say.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not tired.”
His eyes are half-closed.
Derby crouches in front of him. “Kid, you look like Blue Rex hit you with a brick.”
August hugs the dinosaur. “Blue Rex is nice.”
“Then the brick was deserved.”
That gets a sleepy giggle.
I stand and gather the plate, but Derby takes it from my hand.
“I got it.”
“You cooked. I can clean.”
“You re-cleaned. Counts.”
“Derby.”
“Go put him down before he face-plants in cheese.”
I want to argue.
I’m too tired.
“Thank you.”
He shrugs.
August reaches for my hand, and I take him down the hall to Derby’s bedroom. The room already looks less like Derby’s. More dinosaur sheets are on the bed, courtesy of Sophie or Brittany. The moon night-light glows near the outlet. August’s small bag sits beside the dresser. Blue Rex’s coloring book is on the nightstand where Derby’s paperback used to be.
Derby’s house is changing around us.
So is Derby.
I don’t know which one scares me more.