Noticing.Twenty-Seven

He goes in late on Wednesdays. We sit with coffee. It’s a few minutes stolen from the workweek, from the sensation of ships passing in the night. For a little while, we feel normal. And then she cries. I rock her as best I can, her arms around my neck, her steady-rising chest on mine, her knees in my hips, her toes stretching the length of my thighs. How did she get so big? He forgot the trash. It’s not possible that the bank’s math and my math are both right. This is my fault I can’t be tru...