My caterpillar nursery had expanded. The table was rustic and carved, so caterpillar crap lodged in the grooves. I should have put a tablecloth down. The room smelled like cut plants. Using the dust buster, I cleaned up after my pets.

The front door opened. “Hello? Anyone here?” Sawyer. He knew I was here, my car was outside, but we kept up these formalities.

“In here with your babies,” I said. He had been the one to point out the caterpillars, so I joked that they were his.

He walked in and dropped his backpack on the floor beside the table. His presence always hit me sharply. His masculinity, his size. Broad shoulders, big kneecaps.

He had a good face like his father. Good hair like his father. Clean yet vaguely wild. His short hair curled up like stiff icing peaks on a cake. His eyes were unreadable. He always smelled good and had clear skin.

I assumed his good hygiene had developed from his mother’s unpredictability. I hadn’t expected her to get arrested for shoplifting, but I hadn’t exactly been surprised. He couldn’t control his chaotic home life, but he could control how often he brushed his teeth. He wanted to appear clean because his insides didn’t feel that way. But maybe I was projecting.

I rehearsed my words silently in my head before I said them. “Hey, would you mind transferring this lovely fatty to the new milkweed? I’ve been watching him bully his friend for the past fifteen minutes.” I pointed to the caterpillar I was talking about. His stripes, crisp white, nuclear yellow, and pure black, were candy-vivid. Even now, as I put my finger in front of him, he reared his head up in irritation and bobbed it back and forth.

“Really?” Sawyer smiled, part child and part smug, amused villain.

“Yep. Everywhere this other one goes, Tough Guy follows. He keeps rearing up his head and dropping down on the other guy like he’s John Cena.”

“You’re joking.”

“Maybe a little.”

“Where’s Em?”

“School. I’ll leave soon to get her. How was your first day?”

He shrugged. “Whatever.”

We watched the caterpillars together for a full fifteen seconds, both of us silent. Their leaf-chomping was not audible, but the mind filled in the holes and it seemed audible.

Sawyer tried to pick the caterpillar off the leaf, but the caterpillar’s feet were too sticky. The urge to direct Sawyer, to tell him how to do it was strong, but I bit my lip hard. Let him figure it out. He’s practically an adult.