"Yeah," Leigh says, leaning into her mom.
The waitress drops the check between us. “You folks need anything else?”
Before Carly can reach for it, Woody nods toward the envelope on the edge of the table. “GMA’s got this one.”
Carly still shakes her head. “Feels strange letting someone else pay for everything.”
“Consider it a perk,” Woody says, sliding the slip back without even looking at the total. His voice is calm, certain, like he’s used to taking care of things.
Across the aisle, Sanders and Luke slap their hands on the table, still arguing about fries. Sanders declares, “Tomorrow, milkshakes are on me. I’ve got twenty bucks in Christmas money.”
Laughter ripples through the booth, and for a moment, with the neon buzzing and the snow falling outside the fogged windows, it feels like we’re exactly what the world will see on TV tomorrow—a family.
Too bad it isn’t that simple.
TEN
Woody
The night air bites through my coat as we step outside. Manhattan glitters around us. Traffic lights bleed red and yellow across wet pavement, and more vehicles than the eye can see are still bumper to bumper, even at this hour.
Christmas decorations twinkle overhead. For a second, I forget we're here for a TV show and a medical appointment. It feels like something else entirely.
Sanders and Luke charge ahead, shoulders hunched against the cold, whispering some conspiracy only nine-year-old boys understand. I catch fragments about video games and midnight snacks.
"Can Luke spend the night with us? Please? We want to watch Elf together," Sanders pleads, turning back to tug at Lane's hand. The streetlight catches her profile, that stubborn chin I know so well, tilting in the familiar way that means she's about to say no.
"We only have two bedrooms, honey. One for me and one for your dad. We don't have any extra room. How about when we get back home to North Carolina?"
Sanders groans like we've just canceled Christmas,stomping one foot dramatically. Luke's face crumples, the excitement draining away. They're tired, obviously, and it's best that everyone gets a good night's rest.
I open my mouth to suggest figuring out something for tomorrow night, but Carly jumps in first.
"How about this?" she asks. "If your parents agree, Sanders, you boys stay in our suite tonight, but only if you promise to sleep and wake up early. You can stay up to watch only half the movie, and we'll finish it tomorrow after dialysis."
"I think that's a good compromise." Leigh, tiny sentinel of justice, crosses her arms with the conviction of someone three times her age.
"We will!" Sanders gasps, hand over heart like he's taking a sacred vow.
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. These kids. I'd forgotten what it's like to be around more than one at once, the constant negotiation, the drama. Sanders at home is one thing. Sanders with friends is a whole different experience.
Lane sighs beside me, and I can read her surrender in the slight drop of her shoulders. "Fine," she points at our son with the universal mom-finger of warning. "But no pranks, no midnight YouTube, and you're up by five-thirty to get ready for Good Morning America. That's early. You think you can do it?"
The boys high-five, victory secured.
I walk beside Lane, watching her shake her head with that half-smile that's always meantI know I shouldn't let him, but...
For a fleeting moment, it feels like we're on the same side. Co-parents, not exes. We've fallen into this rhythm since this whole thing started so naturally that I almost forgot things were so different onlya few days ago.
Lane catches me watching and raises an eyebrow. I expect her usual defensive wall to slide into place, but instead, there's just a resigned smile that tugs at something in my chest.
Our little parade turns the corner toward the hotel, neon signs reflecting off glass facades. The night stretches ahead.
It's just another evening in a shared hotel room in New York City with my ex-wife. Nothing special.
Back in the suite, Sanders becomes a mini-whirlwind, his pajama top dangling from one arm, toothbrush jammed in his mouth, clothes and gadgets scattering like shrapnel as he packs.
"Buddy." I can't help but laugh at his frantic energy. "You'll just be down the hall, and we'll see you at breakfast. You're not moving to Alaska."
