Tess stares out the window for the thousandth time. She watched from behind her computer as Martin followed Kate’s instructions for the pie dough. Tess will never learn to cook, she understands now. This could be your dish, Tess, Helen would say at least once each time they saw her, Helen making lentils, arroz con pollo, some complicated casserole that she promised Tess only had like six or seven steps. She admired Tess, she said, how hard she worked; always working, she would mutter when Tess got out her computer after the kids were sleeping, not in a particularly admiring way. There was something fundamentally off-putting to Helen, Tess thought, about the fact that Martin did more of the domestic labor than Tess did. But Martin liked to cook, had learned from Helen. Despite Helen’s disapproval, Martin’s contributions to their household were also further proof of what a great mom Helen had been.

She’s written ten more emails, and Martin’s wrapped three clumps of pie dough in Saran Wrap, put them in the freezer, ordered them four pizzas. Still the kids aren’t home. “Why is it so dark?” she says to Martin.

“Because it’s winter,” he says.

“I hate how dark it gets up here.”

“Tess, they’re fine. They’re on their way. Enjoy the quiet.” He comes up behind her, wraps his arms around her.

“Didn’t she say they were just going into town?” she says.

“They’re having fun, Tess. Playing.”

Lights fly by fast, but none of them turn in the driveway. Tess picks up her phone, looking for a text from Alice, but would also settle for an email to respond to. “It’s been hours,” she says.

Martin takes her phone out of her hand and puts his hands on her shoulders. “Does it make me a bad uncle,” he says, “that I can’t tell the twins apart?”

Tess laughs at him, slips out of his grasp. “Jamie is the calm one and he’s shorter; he’s shaped more like your sister.”

“And Jack’s tall and nuts like Colin.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“Jack has impulse control issues like our son.”

“He’s sweet, too, you know? Our son. Desperate to please you.”

“So you say,” he says.

She shakes her head, frustrated. “None of us is perfect, Martin. For example, are we ever going to talk about your job?”

He turns to face her. “Admirable pivot, counsel,” he says. “You said yourself that I did nothing wrong.”