Page 11 of My Single Dad Biker

Louis sets the table with the precision he brings to tasks that have a correct way to be done. Katherine offers to help and I hand her a cutting board and tomatoes and a knife.

"You do this every Wednesday?" she asks.

"Louis decided two years ago that Wednesdays are taco night."

"And you went with it."

"He was six. He needed routines."

She starts cutting and I watch her hands move competently through a task that's ordinary and domestic and happening in my kitchen like she's done this before.

Louis talks through the entire prep. About school, about recess, about a game with rules he's explaining in detail. Katherine listens and asks follow-up questions and I brown the meat and try to figure out how this became my evening.

We eat at seven-thirty. Louis talks non-stop. Katherine matches his energy, asking about his favorite subjects and the book they're reading in class. Louis tells her about the model airplane he's building with Ray and the fact that I'm teaching him about engines.

I mostly listen. This is how dinner works in this house. Louis talks, I listen, and the routine holds everything stable.

Having Katherine here changes the texture but not the structure. She fits naturally into the space Louis creates.

After dinner Louis asks if he can show her the airplane. I nod and they disappear into the garage. I clean up the kitchen and try not to think about how right this feels. Katherine in my house. In my space. With my son.

They come back fifteen minutes later. Louis is yawning. It's eight-fifteen.

"Bedtime," I say.

Louis doesn't argue. He tells Katherine goodnight and heads upstairs. I follow, get him through the routine, and he's asleep by eight-thirty.

When I come back downstairs Katherine is standing by the window looking out at the backyard.

"He's great," she says when she hears me.

"He's easy."

"Because you make it look easy. It's not."

I don't know what to say to that.

She turns from the window. "Do you want to sit outside for a minute?"

I lead her through the back door to the porch. Two chairs. A view of the yard that backs up to empty land. Quiet except for crickets and distant road sounds.

Katherine sits and I take the other chair. We sit in silence that should be uncomfortable but isn't.

"You said Marrow has been pushing for three months," she says. "What happens now?"

"We push back."

"How?"

"Depends what they do next."

"And if they put people in danger?"

"We stop them."

She's quiet. "You said you're part of the reason they're leaving. Does that mean confrontation?"

"Probably."