“A picture.”
“Of what?”
“Our house.”
I study the colorful scribbles that vaguely resemble a house with a bunch of stick figures standing beside it. I see me, Chloe, and my lips twitch when I see Finn too.
I’m not sure who the other figures are though.
“Here.” Finn gently sets a plate full of cookies in front of me along with a glass of milk. Chloe gets the same—albeit with a single cookie and her glass is smaller.
“Thanks,” I say. “But what about you?”
“Oh,” she demurs. “I should let you guys catch up.”
“But you haven’t had any cookies yet,” Chloe says.
“That’s okay?—”
I get up from the table, snag a glass, and pour Finn some milk then fill a plate with cookies for her.
She’s watching me but doesn’t protest when I place both in front of a chair.
Just sits down and we all start eating.
It’s not quiet—Chloe tells me more about Jake and his imaginary fights, her favorite song—currently something called the Shaky Egg song, and how she got Ms. Mika to push her on the swing today.
In between all of that, she keeps coloring.
Finn gathers our plates, carries them to the sink, but when I stand, intending to bring the glasses over (and take over washing the dishes), my daughter decides to throw me a curve ball.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
Her tone is pleading. “Can I get a kitten?”
I blink. “A kitten?”
She nods so eagerly her head bobbles like the toys they sometimes give out during home games. “There are kittens at Chrissy’s rescue,” she says. “Finn said it’s”—she screws up her face—“k-kitty season.”
I glance across the room.
Finn winces. “I, uh, didn’t promise anything.”
Chloe looks up at me with wide, doleful eyes. “Daddy, there are kittens.”
“I’m sure there are.”
“And they’re really cute.”
“I’m sure that’s true too.”
“And they’re sad.”
That one gets me, and I lift my brows. “Oh?”
“Yeah, Finn says they don’t have homes.”
