The intricacies of Chloe’s working and living arrangement are utterly lost on my six-year-old. “Chloe has a date,” I explain, hoping that will solve it once and for all. Harper looks at me like I’m a complete idiot. “So? We could take her on a date. Dad, don’t be such a slob—go put something fancy on and we can go for ice cream, my treat. I have money in my play purse. What does ice cream cost? A dollar? Dollar fifty?”
