Marcus's mother, Gloria, caught him alone by the coffee maker. "You staying or performing staying."
"Working on staying," Marcus said.
Gloria looked at Mei across the living room, at the way Mei handed Nora a cup of cocoa with both hands as if the cup might flee. "That woman broke something sacred. Broken things can be welded. Welded things show the seam. Don't pretend you don't see it. Just decide if the seam is honest enough to live with."
Marcus nodded. He had always loved his mother's ability to say hard things without decorating them. He carried the word welded into the new year like a tool.
January brought a custody mediation session they almost did not need and attended anyway, because naming the structure helped them trust the structure. They agreed to joint legal custody in writing even while sharing a roof again on trial terms. The mediator, a tired man with kind eyes, said he had seen couples use paperwork as a threat and couples use paperwork as a raft. "Be the raft kind," he said. They tried.
February brought Nora's class Valentine's party and a crisis over store-bought cards versus handmade ones. Mei stayed up late cutting paper hearts. Marcus wrote Nora's classmates' names in his neat office handwriting. They delivered the box together at drop-off like co-captains of a very small ship. In the car afterward Mei said, "I used to think romance was the proof. Now I think shared scissors at midnight might be."
Marcus almost smiled. "Don't get sentimental about cardstock."