The kid comes over to print out her valentine story for her boyfriend. Ooh, your highlighter looks good, she says. The kid has been teaching her about makeup.
Always tell me if it doesn’t! she says.
You know I will. The kid asks for help putting together the valentine. Neither the kid nor the wife is a genius in the collating department. The kid has printed it out in what seems like the right way, two pages side by side like a book, but it doesn’t work out when you fold it all together. Oh shit, she says.
No don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. It’s like a math problem, the wife says. They start by putting numbers on each page, and it takes a minute to figure out that this project is nothing a glue stick won’t fix. Do you want to make a cover for it? I don’t have my craft stuff here but I have this and that you could cut some hearts out of. The wife has just made a batch of valentines for her girlfriends, her girlfriends have been so good to her this year, and you know, maybe she can be the change she wishes to see in her own world or some bullshit. The kid cuts out some hearts and flowers and fixes up the cover. She calls the next morning, because she’s forgotten a paper for school, which the wife drops off on her way to get a mani-pedi because she’s doing whatever the fuck she wants today.
The kid texts again later to ask if she and her boyfriend can come over and do laundry. The three of them hang out in the bed with the dog, making Instagram stories and talking about how cute rats are.
You have so many kids now, the boyfriend says.
I know, the wife says.
This is what parenting is, the kids bring over laundry.
I figured this out a few weeks back, she says.
We could have gone and dropped it off, the boyfriend adds. We like hanging out with you guys.
I know, she says. I’m here for all of it.