“Just Friday to Sunday,” Owen said.
“Friday to Sunday,” I said. “Of course. Bring them over tonight.”
I want to be clear about what I understood that agreement to be, because it matters. I understood it as a specific, time-limited arrangement to help my brother and his kids through a logistical disruption. I had a two-bedroom townhouse. Max could take the second bedroom and Ella could sleep on the air mattress we set up on the floor next to him. I had a grocery store four blocks away and a reasonably flexible work schedule for the following Monday if they needed to stay one extra day.
I also understood that both parents knew where their children were. I texted Brooke that evening, partly to say hello and partly because I felt better with everyone on the same page. She texted back: *Thank you Lucy. I’m so sorry about the chaos. I’ll call them Sunday morning.*
That was January 10th.
## Extension One: The Middle of Week Two
Owen’s new lease wasn’t ready by the middle of the following week. He called to tell me this on a Tuesday night while Max was doing homework at my kitchen table and Ella was explaining the plot of a cartoon to my cat in extensive detail.
“The management company had a paperwork issue,” Owen said. “Another week, maybe ten days.”
“Owen.”
“I know. I’m really sorry. Can you hold on just a little longer?”
There was a texture to how he said “hold on” that I didn’t examine closely enough at the time. I heard it as temporary. I heard it as the ordinary messiness of a housing transition during a separation. I said yes.