Last Wednesday was my night. Not by obligation, by plan — Brooke asked if I’d want them for a Wednesday every few weeks, a standing aunt night. I said yes immediately. We made it official the way we make things official now, in a text thread with both parents that I can scroll back and refer to.
They arrived at six. Max had his current book in his backpack, which he always brings now without me asking. Ella had a drawing she made at school that she wanted to hang up on what she has started calling “the fridge at Aunt Lucy’s” as a geographic designation distinct from other fridges.
We had pasta for dinner, the kind with the butter sauce that Ella can eat around the vegetables in and Max eats everything including the vegetables without comment. Garfield sat on the chair next to Ella and she addressed him directly about her day.
I did not think about the spreadsheet. I did not think about the next extension or what Owen was or wasn’t communicating to Brooke or whether the reimbursement transfer would come through. I thought about whether Max wanted more pasta and whether Ella’s drawing was going to need the magnet from the pizza place or the one from the dentist’s office.
At eight o’clock I started bedtime logistics, which I still know by heart. Max reads for thirty minutes after lights-out if he has a book, which he does. Ella takes approximately nine minutes to fall asleep once she stops talking, which she does eventually.