"That was righteous indignation."
Maddie comes barreling back in with one glove on, one glove missing, helmet crooked.
"Where’s my other guard?"
"In your skate bag by the front door," Natalie says immediately.
"Where’s my pink hair tie?"
"Wrapped around your water bottle."
"Where’s—"
"If you ask one more question before checking your bag," Natalie says, "I’m taking a pancake tax."
Maddie gasps.
"You can’t tax breakfast."
"Watch me," Natalie says.
I bite back a laugh.
Three months later and I’m still impressed by how seamlessly she runs this house without ever turning into someone smaller inside it.
That mattered to me from the start.
Still does.
She didn’t disappear into my life.
She expanded it.
***
Ten minutes later we’re finally in the car.
Maddie is talking nonstop in the backseat about skating drills, lap counts, which girl in her class cheats at relays, and why Coach Amy’s whistle is too aggressive in the morning.
Natalie steals a look at me from the passenger seat.
I catch it.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing," she says.
Which means something.
She smiles anyway.
I reach over at a red light and squeeze her knee.
She covers my hand with hers.
Maddie is still talking.
"And if we do backward swizzles today, I’m definitely better than Lily now because last week she kept leaning weird and... Daddy, are you listening?"
