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What does Bo like for dessert? I want to bring something he’ll actually eat.

Luke

You don’t have to do that.

Olivia

I know I don’t have to. I want to.

Luke

Anything vanilla. Nothing with a weird texture. No nuts, he says they’re too crunchy.

Olivia

Understood. No unauthorized crunch.

So this morning I made vanilla bean cheesecake bars from scratch. Smooth. No nuts. Nothing on top a ten-year-old would find suspicious. They’re cooling in the fridge in a glass dish.

I’m excited. I’ve inspected the feeling from several angles, and that’s the only word that fits. Excited to see Luke, which makes sense.

Also excited to see Bo. Which does not make sense. I’ve known the kid for one Sunday and a week of secondhand texts, and somewhere in there he became a person I’m looking forward to. Excitement about a child is not a documented part of my personality.

I put on my favorite sundress, white linen with subtle floral stitches. I set the cheesecake bars on the passenger seat and drive to Luke’s house.

I’ve spent two weeks getting to know him in pieces. Tonight I get the whole house.

The door opens and I don’t get a chance to knock.

“You’re here.” Bo has my hand before I’m fully inside. “Come see my room.”

“Bo.” Luke appears behind him, a dish towel over one shoulder, equal parts glad to see me and braced for it. “Hey, buddy. Maybe let her get in the door first.”

“It’s okay.” I look at Bo. “Lead the way.”

Luke catches my eye over Bo’s head. A question. I wave him off. He lets me go, and I notice it, because I get the sense not many people get walked straight back to Bo’s room.

Bo’s room looks like it detonated.

Legos across every surface. Drawings taped to the wall at angles only he signed off on. A laundry basket that appears to be mostly decorative. Every organized bone in my body wants to do something about it.

I don’t. Because I can tell it isn’t random. It’s his. He crosses the room, showing me various things, and never once hunts for anything. He knows where all of it is, down to the exact blue Lego he pulls out of a pile without looking. It only looks like chaos from the outside. Inside, it’s a map, and he’s the only one who needs to read it.

And somewhere in the middle of it, a cage.

“This is Fluffy.” He lifts the hamster out with two careful hands. “He doesn’t like to be alone. Do you want to hold him?”

“I would be honored.”

Fluffy is warm and immediately tries to walk off the edge of my palm. Bo redirects him without looking, the way you handle something you love and know completely.

“He likes you,” Bo announces. “He bit my dad.”

“Once,” Luke calls from the hall.

“That’s my corner.” Bo points to a small pop-up tent against the wall, a folded weighted blanket inside, big headphones hanging off the pole. “It’s for when my brain gets too loud.”

“Too loud how?”