Page 21 of Lose You Twice

By 7:22, Mom texts that she’s stuck late because the ER is slammed.

By 7:23, I text back, telling her we’re good and not to worry.

We are not good.

But we are functional, which in this house is basically the same thing.

The twins get baths. Justin complains through his entire shower because between the twins’ baths and me washing dishes, we used up the hot water. Holden takes the trash out without being asked and pretends not to notice when I almost thank him too intensely.

By the time the girls are in pajamas, the house has shifted into its softer nighttime chaos.

Daisy is sprawled across my lap while I sit on the edge of her bed, her damp curls smelling like strawberry shampoo. Lily is arranging stuffed animals in a specific order along the wall of her bed.

“Mr. Buttons will sleep by the penguin tonight,” Lily says.

Daisy lifts her head. “Mr. Buttons hates penguins.”

“He does not.”

“He told me,” Daisy argues.

I look down at Daisy. “Mr. Buttons is starting drama again?”

She nods solemnly. “He has issues with sharing.”

I snort at that. “Relatable.”

Lily sighs and moves the stuffed rabbit two inches. “Fine. But if he falls off the bed, I’m not saving him.”

Daisy snuggles closer. “Can you read one chapter?”

I sigh, wanting nothing more than to go curl up in my own bed, but knowing I still have to clean the kitchen and look into the work-study jobs. I really don’t want to take the time to read, even though I know it’ll make them happy.

What’s five more minutes, I guess. “Fine, but just one book tonight.”

“What about two short ones?” Daisy asks.

I narrow my eyes. “You’ve been negotiating with Holden.”

“She has,” Lily says. “He’s weak. Puppy eyes win every time.”

“I heard that,” Holden calls from the hallway.

They both collapse into a fit of giggles.

I read one book about a very pouty fish. Then, because I am also weak, I read another about a very dramatic llama and his pajamas.

By the time I turn off the light, Daisy is already drifting to sleep, her hand curled around the plastic cat we definitely did not spend twenty minutes looking for. Lily is doing her best at fighting sleep, but seems to be losing the battle.

“Wren?” she whispers as I reach the door.

“Yeah?”

“Are we okay? Everyone seems sad.”

I turn back. In the dark, I can just make out her eyes, too open and too serious for six years old.

“Of course we’re okay,” I say. The lie comes easily. That’s the worst part. “We’re always okay.”