my jaw clenches and unclenches, a silent rhythm under my skin. there's a kind of fury that coexists with absolute adoration, and it feels like a live wire in my gut. "what's for dinner," chris asks. and i almost drop the glass. like i'm not already running a mental spreadsheet of every damn thing. the minivan still smells like goldfish and broken dreams, a constant reminder of the chaos i just drove through. and i just stepped on another fucking lego. the desire to explode, just once, to make everyone ELSE wonder what's for dinner, is a vicious thing. and it's there. right next to the fierce, terrifying love that would walk through actual fire for them.