The pencil I held moved over my drawing pad as I hummed one of the many instrumental music pieces Toby liked to play. I could hear the rest of my family come in and out of the kitchen, with the exception of Wyatt who'd placed himself across from me on the mini dining table.
"What's that?" I heard him ask, making me look up from my sketch with a confused frown on my face. Wyatt wasn't pointing at anything, he was just staring at me with an odd focused expression.
"What's what?" I asked him, looking at Wyatt who was eating rice in his pajamas. It was early in the morning — well, not exactly early. It was one of those weekend mornings where waking up before noon was classified as early.
"That," he said, moving his head in a way that told me he was indicating at something on me. I frowned a
