“Tomorrow?” He considers it while he takes another bite and chews. “I don’t see why not. Remember it’s a summer class, so it’s not as full, but there are some promising students that can really make the discussions lively.”

“That sounds so fun.” I dial back the bright smile when he stares at me a little too long.

“Are you okay, Lulu? Is there something else bothering you?”

“No.” I shake my head and go in for a hug. Even though I try not to rely on him or Mom too much, I sink into the hug. The world seems quieter when all I can smell is his aftershave and a whiff of coffee.

He kisses the top of my head before we’re interrupted by Clay’s shrieks of joy. He runs as fast as his legs will carry him and barrels into Dad. “Up, up!” he shouts until Dad swings him up and tickles him.

I head off to put the second part of my plan in motion. I can’t leave Clay alone with Gram all day. I hate to admit it, even to myself, but he’s safer with Mom right now. At least until I fix Gram.

I tap on Mom’s studio door, nerves zipping up and down my arms. This next part depends entirely on her mood.

Mom opens the door and waves me in. “Hey, kiddo! Come see what I’m working on.”

Every color in the world seems to be splattered across the canvas. It’s blended in an unusual and interesting way that’s unique to Mom. She can make things that shouldn’t work together and turn them into paintings so beautiful, it hurts to look at them too long. “It’s really pretty, Mom. I love it.”

“Yeah?” Two spots of pink bloom like roses on her cheeks.

People say Mom is one of the most beautiful women in the world. Dad loves to tell the story of when they first met. How he actually couldn’t speak once he saw her. But his shyness didn’t stop him from writing poetry about her and leaving it at her door. She loved the poems so much, she tracked him down and asked him out. In a way he tricked her—she thought she was getting another artist, one who would understand the world she disappeared into so frequently. Instead she got a history major who ripped off his roommate’s poetry trying to win her love.

Mom said it was too late once she found out. She’d already fallen for him. Dad’s complete devotion to her overshadowed his lack of poetry. She was, and still is, the most important person in the world to him.

“I love all the colors,” I say.