“What did Ryan say when you asked him to take the early shift?” she asked.
“He said we are both tired,” I said, pulling another small blanket from the plastic basket.
“He is stressed about the bills, Mom,” I said, trying to find an excuse that sounded believable even to myself.
“The bills do not hold the bottles at three in the morning,” Clara said, adjusting the collar of her cardigan as she looked toward the door.
Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Ryan appeared in the nursery doorway, holding his car keys in his hand.
“I am heading out to run some errands,” he said, looking at Clara and then at me. “And I wanted to let you know I booked my share of the beach house.”
The nursery became completely quiet, save for the faint hum of the traffic on the main road.
“What beach house?” I asked, my hands freezing on the small pile of laundry.
“The trip with the guys,” Ryan said, checking his reflection in the dark screen of his phone. “It is next weekend. I paid my deposit this morning.”
I stood up from the changing table, my joints cracking in the quiet room.
“You paid for a trip?” I asked. “Ryan, we have forty-eight-dollar formula cans to buy every four days.”
“I work fifty hours a week to pay for those cans, Shannon,” he said, his voice rising just enough to make Clara look down at the basket. “I deserve three days to clear my head.”
“I need you to listen to me, Ryan,” I said, walking closer to the door so my mother would not have to hear my whisper.
“I am listening,” he said, his defensive chuckle returning. “But my mind is made up. I will be back before you even miss me.”
He turned and walked down the carpeted stairs, his keys jingling in his pocket.
Clara stood up slowly, her hands smoothing the front of her trousers.
“Did he already pay for it?” she asked.
“He said he did,” I whispered, staring at the empty doorway.
In the corner of the nursery, the baby swing kept up its quiet, mechanical hum.
