On Saturday, Leo wants to come to Bernadette’s soccer game. He can’t believe how many trees line the field and how comfortable my stadium chairs are. He thinks Bernadette is unusually aggressive for a girl her age and should have a private trainer before middle school. I roll my eyes a lot and try not to look at his feet. He’s wearing flip-flops for the first time, I guess on account of the warmer weather. His feet are like his hands, strikingly beautiful but strong. I think of those feet walking up and down my stairs in the middle of the night. I try to never think about his hands.
