Page 497 of Lodestar

It wasn’thers.

Sure, she’d staked a claim with the addition of a bunch of pink shit, and dotted here and there were the 3D-printed frames I was making her, ones with photos Star had sent me upon request, and Ren and Stimpy’s bed was here too, but even Da had let us haveTeenage Mutant Ninja Turtle-green walls or, in Eoghan’s case,Superman-catsuit blue.

Together, we headed to the door once I snagged the bright-pink tote she used for class and fisted it in my hand—kid’s stuffwas tiny, so tiny that it made me question if I’d ever been that freakin’ small.

At the door, we met with Savannah and Chadwick; the former looked like there was an upcoming grudge match, but the latter didn’t appear to want to be here.

After we let them in, gave our farewells, and walked toward the elevator, I asked, “Do you want to change your bedroom, Kat?”

She bounced on her toes, already buzzing for the upcoming class. A gentle hand on her shoulder stopped her from doing a handstand against the elevator doors.

“Change what, Conor?” she chirped.

“Everything. The colors, the furniture. It’s still too much like a guest room with your things in it.”

The bouncing stopped. “Can it be pink?”

“It can be pink.” Then, I realized whom I was talking to—Star’s daughter. “How much pink? Give me a percentage here.”

“Ninety-nine percent pink.”

“That’s a lot of pink. Don’t you think you’ll get pink fatigue?”

“No such thing.”

“I disagree. If you have ice cream for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, do you think you’d like it by dinnertime?”

“No one does that, Conor, silly.”

“I’ve done it. So I know the answer.”

She squinted at me. “Which ice cream meal is best?”

“Breakfast, because by dinner time, you’re sick of a good thing. Plus, it feels naughty so it tastes better.”

Kat pondered that as we made it to the garage.

When we were in my Mini Cooper, she queried, “How much pinkwouldn’tbe pink fatigue?”

As I turned onto the road, I calculated, “Seventy percent.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s more than half, so that appeases your pink-loving soul, but there’s thirty percent that lets you go wild and keeps the pink fresh. That’s a good amount.”

“I’ll think about it,” was the only confirmation I got.

This kid, I swear. By nurture alone, Star had crafted her mini-me.

“Can I have a coat rack tree too?”

My heart literally pinged in my chest. “Kat, it isn’t a coat rack.”

“Sure it is. We put our coats on it, don’t we?”

“Yes, but we’re not supposed to.”

“Why do I put my coat on it then?”

---