Later, while I washed the bowls, I said, “I’ll make you a deal.”
He climbed onto a kitchen chair.
“If I’m hungry, I’ll stop pretending I’m not.”
“Fine.”
“And you stop trying to solve family disagreements with emergency services.”
“Okay.”
I dried my hands.
There was a little ice cream left in the carton.
“If I’m hungry, I’ll stop pretending I’m not.”
“Save that for Friday,” I said.
Tyler looked inside.
“That’s yours.”
My automatic answer was already there.
You can have it.
I stopped.
“Okay.”
I took a marker from the junk drawer and wrote across the lid:
MOM
My automatic answer was already there.
Tyler held out his hand.
“My turn.”
I gave him the marker.
Underneath my word, in huge crooked letters, he added:
NOT 911
I stared at it.
“So you remember?” I asked.
Tyler nodded solemnly. “So we both do.”
