Owen had always been hands-off when it came to the infant period. Changing poopy diapers? He’d run to the bathroom and dry-heave simply at the smell. Handling the feedings? To him, that’s what God gave women boobs for. The toddler years were an endless page of the same conditioning: women handle the kids; men handle the moneymaking. I had been fine with the arrangement, since motherhood suited me. In fact, it suited me so well that I wanted another, and maybe even another after that. But kids cost money, and one kid was plenty, according to Owen. One vasectomy later, the option for more kids was out of my control.

It was almost eight o’clock when I couldn’t keep the morning sunlight from blinding me even through closed eyelids. I decided to get out of bed and make pancakes, a home-cooked breakfast that we didn’t have time for on weekdays. Within fifteen minutes I had dark roast coffee brewing and most of the ingredients mixed, until I realized I was one egg short.

“Shoot,” I mumbled under my breath as I searched the fridge again, just in case I hadn’t seen an extra egg hiding somewhere behind the milk.

“What’s wrong?” Owen asked, sneaking up behind me and wrapping his arms around me, kissing my neck—the good side. I always loved when he did that while I cooked. I felt so safe in his arms in those moments, in ironic contrast to how unsafe I felt in his arms at other times.

I loved how he inhaled me, holding me against him protectively as his heart drummed against my back. In these moments I soared.

I turned to face him. “I’m an egg short. I’ll run next door to see if Miss Barbara has any.”

He smirked. In the north adults didn’t precede a first name with Miss. That was a Southern thing—or thang—and he couldn’t let it slide.

“No, don’t ask Miss Barbara. It makes us look like beggars. Just run to the store and buy a dozen.”

“She won’t mind at all, Owen. It’s what friendly neighbors do. It’s not a big deal.”

“Yes, it is a big deal because it makes us look irresponsible. You represent the family; you represent me, when you leave this house. I’ll not have you making a fool of our family by begging for eggs from our neighbors.”

I was still in my pajamas. I hadn’t even enjoyed my first cup of coffee. There was no way I was going to get dressed to run out to the store for one damn egg.

“Fine, I’ll go to the store wearing my pajamas. Would that suit you better?”

“Mackenzie, I don’t find that funny, and you know it. Get dressed, get yourself presentable, and go shopping like a decent human being.”