“Noah. She’s twelve, almost thirteen.” He could hear the gentle firmness in Mellody’s tone. He’d heard it millions of times during the course of their relationship. “We’re going to have to start accepting that. She’s old enough to stay home alone. She’s old enough to pick her after school activities. She’s old enough to be her own person.”

Logically, rationally, he got that. But when he looked at his little girl? He wasn’t ready to release her into the world. She wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready.

“I’ll take it into consideration,” Noah said, grudgingly. There were reasons he was the way he was. Reasons he’d never really delved into with Mellody.

Mellody laughed. “You know this is a partnership, right?”

“I do vaguely recall it being something along those lines. But if I find our daughter in a tube top and big hair talking about manicures and greased up pool boys, I’m blaming you forever.”

He heard the distinct sound of fake static. “What’s that? I can’t hear you. … going through… tunn—”

His ex-wife the comedian.

Noah tossed his phone on the seat next to him and headed toward Merry. He’d spent his lunch hour and the better part of his afternoon in New Haven meeting with state officials who marched through what aide Merry could and couldn’t expect. There were dozens and dozens of federal programs that dealt with recovery. And now it was his job to parse through the thousand pages—barely an exaggeration—of resources and figure out which programs fit Merry’s recovery needs and which ones they could qualify for.

It wasn’t ideal, but at least Merry could count on something outside of A Soggy, Sad Christmas of Destruction or whatever the hell moniker Cat’s network decided on for the show.

He spotted the fleet of production vehicles parked all over Mistletoe Avenue. He could add parking etiquette to his list of issues to discuss with Cat, Noah decided as he slid out of the vehicle and slammed the door.

Tired and frustrated, he was spoiling for a fight, and he knew Cat would give him what he wanted.

He spotted that mass of caramel colored hair spilling over a forest green vest. She was sitting on the front porch steps next to April. Pretty as a picture, of course. Because that’s what her life was. One big show for the cameras. His Sara was on April’s other side, her slim arm around her friend’s shoulder. April was crying.

What had been a slow, churning anger exploded into full-blown temper.

“Babe, it’s okay to feel upset,” Cat was saying to a twelve-year-old in her infinite TV star wisdom. “It’s tough to see your house like this and watch your parents worry. But you know I’ve got your back, and Sara does, too.”