There it was again—that look. Like he was holding back from saying something. “What?” I rolled my eyes to stop them from watering. “Nothing.” His voice was strained. “I’m sorry.” “That you were born? Yeah, so am I.” I plastered the bowl to my chest, sidestepping him to go upstairs. He moved in the same direction, trying to give me space. I stepped to the other side. He did the same. I growled in frustration. “Get out of my way,” I said. I had to go upstairs and flick the bean before I exploded. “Trying to.” “Well, just stand still, and I’ll go around you,” I snapped.
