“We need to find you friends your size.”
“Did you just shhh me?”
“I am not sure his parents would approve.”
“It shows . . . Who your people are. Where your home can always be. If that is something you want.”
But it is difficult to ask.
“If, perhaps, you would . . . like a surname. Like I am Margo /Lane/. Not that you have to be Adam Lane. I could ask Victor . . . your father. But if you are part of a family, you should have a family name.”
“Yes. Home.”
“Do you like it here with me?”
“Thank you for being my family,” she says gently.
“I could use a hug, too.”
Adam stood in the doorway, the broken toaster clutched in both hands. Its metal shell was warped, its surface still faintly warm, a thin curl of smoke rising from the slot.
Adam stood in the doorway, the broken toaster clutched in both hands. Its metal shell was warped, its surface still faintly warm, a thin curl of smoke rising from the slot.
*SCREECHES*
Carry on.
He will be . . . somewhere else.
*SCREECHES*
He had a long night.
“I am very happy to hear that. I got you a new blanket. Warm.”
Hmm.
Hmm.
“Sit with me, Adam.”