Page 9 of Between the Lines

Ryan salutes me with two fingers, then takes Oliver by the hand to the giant family closet attached to the laundry room to help him pick out tonight’s jams.

I take out the necessary pots and pans, boil up their favorite bow tie noodles, and have dinner on the table within the half hour. By that point, order has been restored. Sonny has eaten real dog food, Harper can mostly add triple-digit numbers independently, Oliver’s dinosaur pajamas have been turned right-side-out, and we are essentially the Brady Bunch, all seated around our large kitchen table.

All we’re missing is dear old mom and dad.

I should be grateful that dad has a great job. We are not strapped for anything in the Benson household when it comes to money. What we are strapped for is time.

Time from our parents—ironically, as the oldest, I seem to have banked the least.

“Best part of your day?” I ask, helping Oliver get some noodles onto his construction truck fork. He gets a face full of sauce before the pasta is anywhere relatively near his mouth, and I kick myself for not making tonight bath night. I mentally add that to tomorrow’s checklist.

“I got to sign the brag book in the office!” Harper shares.

“Good for you, kiddo! What’d you do?”

“I helped Xander B. with his math problem when he couldn’t solve it.”

She looks so smug, and I tamp down my eye roll, remembering the meltdown she’d appeared to have over herownmath homework not half an hour ago.

The rest of my siblings share the best parts of their days, and then we wash up, taking our stations to do the dishes and clean the kitchen so that Mom and Dad come home to an orderly household.

Dad had meetings in New York today, so he won’t be home until after ten. I put his plate in the fridge, knowing he won’t eat it, but will probably take it as lunch tomorrow. Mom will return from her social plans as soon as Oliver is asleep, close to eight.

After the younger ones have read for twenty minutes out of a chapter book, and I ensure that all of Zoey’s homework has been done both correctlyandneatly, after Michael asks for help filling out a job application when he doesn’t know what aSSN is, after Oliver gets up three separate times for water, then another hug, then to pee, I finally get to sit down for the first time since I was at school.

My siblings are either asleep or winding down with their own form of entertainment. The RoboVac is taking care of the kitchen and the dishwasher is running. Backpacks and lunches are ready on the counter, and outfits for tomorrow are laid out on the living room couch for an easy grab-and-go.

And as my exhale turns into a full ten-second yawn, the chunky knitted throw blanket from the back of the couch encasing me in its heaven and threatening to carry me off to Neverland, I realize that no one cared enough to ask me about my day.

five

claire

“I said, Iain’t.Doin’.Thisshit.”

I blink, completely unfazed by the language—or repetition of—from Rocco. My siblings have said worse to me, and then regretted it instantly when they realized what had come out of their mouths.

“Oh. I heard you. I just wanted to make sure thatyouwere sure about your own word choice.”

Rocco’s face twists in a cross between incredulous and exasperated, likeWhat did youthinkI said, lady?

“Fine.”

I cross my arms and shrug. His head dips, eyes turning to almost drunken slits.

“Fine?”

“Yeah,” I shrug again. “Fine. Don’t do thisstuff. You have every right to sit at your desk and get nothing done. For sure.”

He smirks, huffs a laugh, and mashes his palms together.

“Alright, bet.”

“But itwillgo home as homework.”

“Huh?”

His palms pause mid-mash and his head tilts to the side.

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