arguing about where to have dinner.
“Tacos,” Andy insisted.
“We had tacos Tuesday,” Amara said.
“That was a different week spiritually.”
“That sentence means nothing.”
“It means tacos.”
Ashton sighed.
“Statistically, voting is the fairest method.”
They reached us.
Adam stood.
For months, the children had called him Adam.
That afternoon, Andy looked at him.
“Hey, Dad?”
Everyone froze.
Including Andy.
His eyes widened as if the word had escaped without permission.
Adam’s face changed.
He didn’t rush forward.
He didn’t cry dramatically.
He just said, very quietly, “Yeah?”
Andy scratched the back of his neck.
“You know any good taco places around here?”
Adam nodded.
“I know one.”
Andy looked at Amara and Ashton.
“See?”
Amara rolled her eyes.
But she was smiling.
We walked toward the parking lot together.
I watched the four of them ahead of me.
For one strange moment, I thought about the hospital again.
