Martin, working late. In the evenings, I survey the sink and realize every dish accounted for is my own, or one prepared by me. No coffee thermos' on the drying rack, no spatulas dyed turmeric neon from late-night curry. I spend the night taking Max & Preslee out to dinner for babysitting Divy, Red Robin for dinner, an endless bowl of fries. With fry sauce of course. Look at me, ruling the roost, I think every time he comes to see me, near drunk on his independence. Just Max and his love. Basking in the odd satisfaction of things positioned just how I left them. A happy dominion, opening the kitchen door to see the tea pot waiting for me and me alone.
But then I tiptoe to the skating rink to take them all skating afterwards like old times, also waiting for me and me alone. I send him a good night text, an extra emoji for sentiment.
