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"You're so kind."

"Your feet are on the floor."

"They've been there before."

She folds her arms. "Come sleep in the bed."

I look at her. She rolls her eyes. "We share two humans, Carson. I think we can survive sharing a king-size mattress."

"You just had surgery."

"I'm aware. I was there. Come on."

I follow her down the hall. She gets in first and builds the pillows around herself. I stay on my side and give her enough room that another person could probably sleep between us.

She looks over.

"What?"

"You are approximately six feet away, and you don't look any more comfortable now than you did on that Barbie sofa."

"Trying not to crowd you."

"Come here." She pulls at my shirt.

I move closer and settle on my back. She turns carefully onto her side and puts her head against my chest. My arm goes around her.

"Better," she says.

I don't answer. But it is better.

"You stayed."

I don't have an answer for that one either. A few minutes later, her breathing evens out against me. I stay awake longer, listening to her and the two bassinets across the room.

Two in the morning turns into a thing we do. She takes one, and I take the other, and we sit side by side against the headboard, both of us too wrecked to make words happen.

Once, mostly asleep, she says, "You're better at this than me."

"I'm not. But I'm willing to let you think that."

The days run nine to four once Lis leaves for her hours at Sabal Point. I can't get a diaper on right the first try to save my life. Half the time I've got it backward, and Graham has soaked my forearm before I catch it. But a swaddle I can do one-handed, tight and squared off, either baby, every time.

Mackie can't, and it drives her insane.

"Show me again. Slower," she says.

"You're pulling it before you tuck it."

"I hate you."

I cook twice. The chicken the first night is better than hospital chicken, but only moderately better than the charred thing I grilled. There's a slow drip under Lis' sink, so one afternoon while the bottles warm, I shut the water off and swap the trap out. I don't say I'm going to, and I don't say I did.

That's the afternoon it gets away from us. The bottle is standing in a cup of hot water on the counter, and Mackie is leaning back against the edge of it in one of my shirts with the sleeves rolled twice. I walk over to check in and set my hand on the counter beside her.

Then my hand is on her hip, and then it's under the shirt at the small of her back. Her mouth comes up to mine before I've decided anything. She gets both hands into my hair and pulls. I get a grip on the counter behind her because if I put that hand anywhere else, we are going to find out how long we can lie to ourselves.

She's warm through the shirt, and she's arching up into me. We only stop because one of us has to.