He looks at me steadily, intently, his forehead grooved. “Sometimes I think all these firsts are harder for us than they are for them. After dropping Ella off the day school started, I sat in my truck and cried until pickup. I looked so puffy that Ms. Sherman asked me if I’d had an allergic reaction to something.” I’m laughing and I’m crying, and it feels … kinda good, actually. “Really?” “You think I’d make that up?” His dimples appear when he smiles. “I’m a worrier. Always have been.”
