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“Shower.”

I put a hand over my heart. “I was hoping you’d say hello first.”

“I did.” She’s already turned back to the stove.

The spoon comes up again without her looking, aimed at the bathroom door.

“Now shower.”

Bo trails in behind me, wrinkling his nose dramatically, his whole face folding in on itself. “You smell like outside.”

“I smell like work.” I spread my arms, which is a tactical error.

He backs up a step, one hand clamped over his nose. “You smell like outside work.”

I laugh, rough from a night with no sleep in it. “Fair enough.”

I set my duffel beside the laundry room door and lean down to slip off my boots.

Something small and fuzzy darts across the hallway.

I freeze.

“Bo.”

He freezes too, one foot still off the ground, the way he does when he catches the tone. “What?”

“What was that?”

His eyes widen. I watch the exact second he remembers. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I forgot.”

“You forgot...what?”

“Fluffy was having floor time,” he says, as if everyone lets their hamster roam free through the house.

I look toward Dottie.

She’s still stirring, unbothered, like a loose rodent is no big deal.

“I told him to keep Fluffy in his ball,” she says without looking up. “Apparently Fluffy had other plans.”

“I wanted him to stretch his legs.”

“He’s a hamster.”

“He has four of them. So shouldn’t he use them?”

I open my mouth.

Close it again.

Honestly...I don’t have a great counterargument, and I’m too worn down to fake one. Twelve hours ago I was somewhere I’m never going to describe to either of them. Now the biggest problem in my house is a hamster exercising his rights across my hallway. I’ll take it.

Bo beams, full and gap-toothed, and there’s no staying tired in front of that.