“Can I please be done?” Bubba asked, politely, but rudely at the same time. “Robin,” I warned him quietly, but my laugh broke free and betrayed my amusement. I hardly ever first-named him. He hardly ever needed it. “Done with what, dear?” Beatrice looked genuinely confused. Her dark hair was tucked back neatly like it usually was. An apron—that she’d clearly brought from home—wrapped around her curvy figure. “Disney,” Bubba whined unhappily like he was being tortured. “Can I pretty please play with Barb now?”
