"I know you're not."
They stood with the island between them like a negotiating table that had once been a place for pancakes. The gifts on the coffee table shone in their paper. A balloon drifted down an inch, thought better of it, and rose again on the heat of the lights.
"Where do you want me to sleep?" Rachel asked.
"I don't know." He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands until he saw colors. "Sophie's going to come looking if you're not in the house. The spare room still has my mother's quilt. Take that. I'll take the couch, or I'll take our bed, I don't care. I don't want you in the bed. I don't want you in a hotel where she wakes up and thinks you vanished because of the cake. Can you do that without making it a favor I owe you?"
"Yes."
"Megan can stay if she wants. Tell her she doesn't have to guard us."