Before I can flick him between the eyes for being so deeply annoying, he reaches out and squeezes one of the pompoms on my socks. (Yes, there are pom-poms on my socks. It’s cold, okay?) I watch him pinch the soft red ball between finger and thumb. But when I look up, he’s not focused on my socks; he’s focused on me. “Tell me the truth,” he says so, so softly, not like it’s an order but like he’s really asking. Like it really matters.
My book kids omg :((
