“Who’s your baby with if Farrow’s working?” I wanted to call the baby my nephew, but it felt too bizarre. “Ryke and Dad are watching him.” “Not our aunts?” I would’ve thought they’d be the first in line after our mom. “Ripley likes when Ryke and Dad hold him more,” he explained, still trying his best to train his gaze on me and not the driver. Screens blocked our windows, so he couldn’t peer outside that easily. “When he was really small, he used to cry a lot, except when he was in my arms. So I think they remind him of me.”
