“HEXagon,” Sam said.

“Seven.”

“Six.”

My mother looked at me across their heads.

She did not say anything.

I made it through dinner.

I made it through baths, and two books, and the negotiation about the hallway light.

I made it downstairs, and my mother put her coat on, and at the door she said, “Do you want me to stay,” and I said no, and she said, “I’ll come at seven,” and left.