Without any of us planning it, Zachary and Paisley kept gently filling the quiet spaces in my weeks.

It began with updates about Paisley’s recovery — her incision tickles when she sneezes; is she cleared for movie-theater popcorn yet — and drifted, without a clear line, into simply the texture of shared days. Paisley has announced she’s going to be a surgeon too, but only if she can start her shifts after ten, because she hates waking up early. One Sunday I met them at a farmers market on the edge of the city, and Paisley conducted a rigorous scientific survey of the fruit at four different stands before pronouncing her research complete, and on the drive home, with her asleep in the back seat, Zachary turned the radio down and asked me a question that stopped me cold: “When was the last time you did something fun without checking your watch?” I could not remember.

That was the honest answer.

I could not remember.