***
The school is already buzzing when we pull up.
Kids spill out in clusters, backpacks bouncing, voices overlapping, energy bleeding into every corner of the pickupzone. Parents lean against cars. Staff members supervise crossings. Everything moves fast and loud and familiar.
Arthur steps out first, scanning instinctively, then waits.
I follow, my sparkly bag glinting in the afternoon sun like a beacon I can't turn off.
Henry spots us almost immediately.
He pauses mid-stride, surprise flickering across his face before it breaks into a grin—real and unguarded in a way I haven't seen directed at Arthur before.
Arthur stills beside the open door, just for a beat.
Henry jogs over, stopping short in front of his father.
"You're here," he says.
Arthur nods. "I had time."
Henry's grin widens, just a fraction. Then he climbs into the back seat beside me without being told, settling his backpack on the floor with practiced ease.
As soon as the door closes, I turn toward him.
"How was your day?"
Henry shrugs, then starts talking.
About school. About a project he's working on for science. About how his teacher assigned partners and he got stuck with someone who doesn't contribute. About lunch. About the girl who corrected him in math again.
"Jenny?" I ask, remembering.
Henry flushes slightly but doesn't deny it. "She's annoying."
"Annoying in a bad way or annoying in a 'she's smart and you kind of like it' way?"
He looks at me like I've just revealed classified information.
"She's going to CAMICon," he adds, casual but proud.
My reaction is immediate. I sit up straighter, eyes brightening.
I lean forward, enthusiasm bubbling up before I can temper it. "She's going to love it. It's amazing. Panels, cosplay, merchtables—there's this whole section for artists and indie creators. Last year I got to meet the voice actor for Legends."
Henry's eyes widen. "From New Age of Legends?"
Arthur watches us in silence.
The SUV pulls away from the school, merging smoothly into traffic.
Henry asks questions—about panels, about merch, about how people make their outfits. I ask if he's into cosplay. He says maybe. I ask what character he'd want to be. He tells me, then pivots immediately to ask what I usually dress as.
The conversation flows without effort, like this has always been the arrangement.
I cling to it. Finally letting the adrenaline from the museum incident fizzle away.
As we talk, Arthur listens, one hand resting on his knee, fingers no longer moving.
