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And they were back to the deep questions. It seemed Fallon wasn’t going to be able to escape them this time, not that she managed well last time. “I do like your mom.”

Brinley didn’t say anything until they put the pot onto the stovetop and turned it on. Then she stared at the stove, like it was her lifeline. “You’ll be nice to her, right?”

“I’m rarely mean to people. Only my little sister when it’s called for.”

Brinley’s eyes widened in surprise. “You have a sister?”

“Yeah, I do. She’s nine years younger than me, so I used to pick on her a lot.” It was a bit of a stretch of the truth, but Fallon knew how to play into that story, the one where siblings teased each other and enjoyed each other’s company.

“I wish I had a sister. Or a brother.” Brinley squatted down, peeking through the glass door on the oven to the food.

Fallon wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. She understood the longing, but for her, Monti had been plenty. She wouldn’t have wished her childhood on anyone else.

“Maybe my dad will have a baby with his new girlfriend.”

“You never know,” Fallon responded.

“But what if he loves the baby more than me?” Brinley sent Fallon a side-eyed nervous glance.

Fallon frowned. She’d had that fear when Monti was born, but it turned out she was still the favorite child, because she wasquiet and easy, and because she took care of Monti to make sure she was quiet when her dad was in a rage. “Any good parent will love you just the same.”

“He doesn’t love my mom the same.”

This was where it’d been headed from the start, wasn’t it? “Adults are more complicated than a parent and a child's love. Adults often find reasons to be angry with each other.”

“Aunt Kyla said she was mad at Uncle Conrad for dying.”

“Yeah, I imagine she was. She still might be.” Fallon brushed her hand along Brinley’s shoulder before pulling back. “It’s okay to be mad at people for dying, and sad about it at the same time. I was that way when my mom died.”

“Are you still mad at her?” Brinley’s eyes were filled with curiosity.

Shaking her head, Fallon answered, “No, not at her.” She was, however, still royally mad at her father. She tried her best to never think about him, to ignore he even existed in her life, but it was impossible. Because without him, her mom would still be alive.

“Who are you mad at?”

“My dad.” Fallon sighed. “But I don’t really want to talk about it, okay? It doesn’t make me feel very good.”

“Okay.” Brinley grabbed Fallon’s hand and walked her toward the living room. Savannah watched both of them as they came closer. “Dinner should be ready in…”

“Twenty minutes,” Fallon supplied.

“In twenty minutes!” Brinley said gleefully. “Can I watch a video?”

“Sure, baby,” Savannah said. She didn’t sound like her usual bubbly self, though.

Fallon snagged the empty drink on the table and immediately walked back to the kitchen to refill it. Then she made a second drink for herself. When she went back to theliving room and sat next to Savannah, she made sure that their legs were touching.

“Thanks for the refill.”

“Let me know if you want another.” Fallon rested her palm on Savannah’s thigh, squeezing lightly.

Savannah slid the blanket on her lap over Fallon’s hand, covering their connection from Brinley’s viewpoint. Their shoulders brushed, but Savannah still seemed tense and distant. Fallon’s mind swam with ideas to ease that tension from her, to make something better and nicer for her.

Brinley was glued to the television screen, something on YouTube that she must have watched a hundred times because when the opening started, she sang right along with it. Savannah tilted to the side and rested her head on Fallon’s shoulder.

“Today sucked.”

“To be fair, not every day can be fantastic.”