When Victor pushes my back door open the next day, he’s greeted with a lazy sight. I’m curled up with the boys on my small sofa. The three of us are a little cuddle puddle of sleepy happiness.
“Oh good,” I say, looking up at him and then staring deliberately at the bag of chocolate-covered pretzels on the counter. “Can you bring those over to us? We’re all out.” I pick up the empty bag that we put on the floor next to us and shake it, the sound of the empty crumbs bouncing inside of it demonstrating our lack.
Victor laughs and grabs the bag off of the counter in the kitchen. “What, is this all the greeting I get? Is this all I’m good for to you people?”
“Nooo, Papa,” Alvin says, lifting his head up from its position on my hip. “We love you. And also, can you bring more chocolate milk?”
