Louise stared down at her granola bowl.

The chia seeds had been a mistake. Seeing them now — little black specks littering her vanilla yoghurt — she felt slightly nauseous. After three days of combing through Hugh and Vienna's hair for nits, she wasn't sure that she'd ever be able to eat chia seeds again.

"Hard at work?" Sebastian asked.

Her boss was rifling through the office cupboard for his usual five o'clock snack. Louise shoved away the granola bowl.

"Have you ever had lice?" she asked.

Sebastian lifted an eyebrow. "No. Why?"

"You don't want to know."

He whistled. "That bad, huh?"

"I suggest that you never have kids," Louise said. "Ever."

She was joking. Sort of. Actually, Vienna's daycare had rung her today to say that Vienna was chasing a traumatized toddler with a dead mouse — and there had been a moment, Louise reflected, when she questioned why anyone would willingly reproduce.

She wasn't proud of it.

But she was willing to admit it to herself.

Sebastian picked up a bag of salt-and-vinegar crisps. "I take it that co-parenting with..." He frowned. "What's his name again?"

"Ben."

"Ben." Sebastian clicked his fingers. "That's right. That's not going well?"

"Well," Louise sighed, "I only want to murder him about eighty per cent of the time, which is a significant improvement." She gave Sebastian a pointed look. "He owns an alphabetized spice rack. And he has a chore wheel."

Sebastian ripped open the bag. "A chore wheel?"

Louise nodded. "I wish I was joking."

Ben set the chore wheel every morning. Then Louise would wake up, make the kids breakfast (cereal for Hugh, buttered toast on a separate plate from the fruit for Vienna), and spin the chore wheel around at random. Ben would come home first and fix it; Louise would wait until he was asleep and then mess it up again.

It was a fun game.

Not so much for Ben, Louise admitted, but she was enjoying herself. It beat the "make-fun-of-Ben's-boring-clothes" game and "leave-dirty-dishes-in-the-sink-until-Ben's-eye-started-twitching" game.

Louise turned back to her laptop. Stared at the screen.

"Do you know he has a tea collection?" Louise asked. "Like, Ben literally collects tea. And then organizes them by region."

Just yesterday, Louise had arrived home to find all her snacks in a plastic bin on the counter. Percy Pigs. Deliciously Ella energy balls. Chocolate digestives. And there — in her cupboard — had been at least twenty tins of tea. Ben claimed that some of the tea couldn't be exposed to sunlight, but Louise got the sense that he was doing it just to piss her off.

Anyway.

She'd hidden his pickles in the freezer. By the time Ben found them, Louise thought smugly, they'd be frozen solid. He'd never touch her snacks again. "Hide-the-pickles" game was a new favourite.

"To be fair," Sebastian said, popping a crisp in his mouth, "I really rate that Ben has a tea collection. I'm taking his side on this one."

Louise frowned. "Traitor."

Sebastian smiled and ate another crisp. Louise looked at her laptop — open to a website that advertised rare flamingos — and sighed.

"Right." She closed it. "I'm giving up."

"Any events tonight?" Sebastian asked.

Louise shook her head. "I'm going home."

And thank God for that, Louise thought; it was the first night all week that she didn't have an anniversary, or a Bat Mitzvah, or — in the case of Wednesday night — a "dress-as-your-favourite-phase-of-Taylor-Swift" birthday party. Sebastian polished off the crisps, wiping his hands on a tissue.

"Want to get a drink?" Sebastian asked. "We can go to that pub you like. The Irish one just down the street." He pitched the empty crisp packet into a bin. "I'll even split sweet potato fries with you."

"You hate sweet potato," Louise said.

"I know." His smile was boyish. "But I'd eat them."

For a moment, Louise was tempted. When was the last time she'd been to a bar? Ordered a glass of wine and had a conversation with a friend? A fellow adult? Then she thought of Hugh, the way his face crumpled when she dropped him off at school each morning, and her throat tightened.

"I can't." Louise shouldered her bag. "I should help put the kids to bed."

Sebastian's face softened. "How are they?"

"Oh, Vienna's a terror."

And that, Louise thought, was an understatement; Vienna continued to terrorize the other children at daycare with cheerful indifference, snipping off bits of hair and haranguing poor little Jessica Bloomsbury about her neon orange beret (which was, Louise admitted, truly terrible, but it didn't mean that Vienna needed to point it out).

"Is that her?" Sebastian leaned closer to Louise's phone screen. "She looks sweet."

Louise looked down at the photo — a shot of her, Hugh and Vienna eating ice cream in the summer last year — and pulled a face. "Don't be deceived."

Sebastian tapped the screen. "And that's your nephew?"

"Yeah." Louise swallowed. "Hugh's very... quiet."

Too quiet.

Hugh had been a model of decorum recently. He said very little, only speaking to ask Louise what was for dinner, or if he could be excused from the table. He never had friends over. Always went to bed on time. He was, in short, perfect.

Louise hated it.

She found herself wishing that Hugh would throw a tantrum, just once; she would rather her nephew scream than stare at the table with that blank expression, as if the world's secrets had been revealed to him and left him wanting.

"He must miss his parents," Sebastian murmured.

A lump rose in her throat. "We all miss them."

Sebastian shifted his weight. "If there's anything I can do..."

"I'm fine," Louise said, pocketing her phone. "But thank-you." She made for the door. "Have a good night, okay?"

Sebastian stuck his hands in his pockets. He was bouncing on his toes a little, as if he wanted to say something. Then he shook his head and turned back to his desk. "I'll see you on Monday. Enjoy your weekend."

Louise found them upstairs.

Ben was sitting on the floor of the bathroom reading a newspaper, his long legs sprawled out in front of him. Vienna was splashing in the bath. The purple bath, Louise noted, arching an eyebrow. The water was a bright violet.

"Are we trying to turn her into Barney?" she asked.

Ben flipped a page. "It's a coloured bath tablet."

"I should hope so." She hopped up on the counter, her legs swinging. "Otherwise, Vienna needs medical attention."

"Noted." He closed the paper. "You're home early."

Louise shrugged. "No parties tonight. I figured I'd come home and help with the bedtime routine." She glanced at the corridor. "Where's Hugh?"

"In his room." Ben must have seen her face fall because he frowned. "What?"

"Nothing," Louise said. "I was just hoping..." That he'd be at a friend's house. That Hugh was doing anything but sitting in his room, staring at the walls with that horrible blank expression. She picked at her nails. "Never mind; it's not important."

Ben opened his paper. Vienna hummed happily and waved a rubber whale. Louise made it all of thirty seconds before the silence began to weigh on her.

"How's Vienna been?" she asked.

Ben flipped the page. "You know what? She's been an absolute star."

Vienna's head snapped up. As if on cue, she flung her whale across the loo, letting out an ear-splitting howl. The sopping whale collided with Louise's left sock — black, unlike the pink one on her right foot — and she frowned.

"Vienna!"

The toddler's sobs increased.

Vienna was inconsolable for the rest of the evening. She didn't want to put on her sheep pajamas. The toothpaste was too minty. And by the time Louise had managed to goad her into bed, Vienna was waging a one-person war against all picture books. It took singing, sock puppets, and three episodes of "Angelina Ballerina" to get her into bed by eleven o'clock.

Exhausted, Louise traipsed down the corridor. Knocked on Hugh's door.

"Hugh?" she called. "Can I come in?"

"Yes."

She stuck her head in. Hugh was sitting on the floor, holding a piece of LEGO in his hands. He'd organized the blocks by colour, and they were sitting in neat little piles on the floor. Not being built into anything. Just sitting.

Louise leaned against the door. "How are you doing?"

Hugh shrugged.

"Do you want to read a book together?" Louise offered.

He shook his head.

"Did you eat dinner?" Louise asked. "Do you want a snack before bed?"

Hugh stared down at the LEGO block. "I'm n-n-not hungry."

"Okay," Louise said. "Let's have pancakes tomorrow, alright?"

Hugh nodded, placing the red LEGO block into its allotted pile. Louise closed the door. Her chest felt like a tangled knot of yarn, and invisible hands yanked at the string, pulling it so taught that she couldn't breathe. She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes.

Counted to ten.

Then Louise squared her shoulders and made for the master bedroom.

Ben was already in bed, reading the same newspaper. He hadn't made much progress, Louise noted; he was still on the same section. She flopped onto her side of the bed. Their bed, she supposed — oddly, the thought didn't seem strange anymore.

Ben set down the paper. "I just tried to brush my teeth with my razor. Let that sink in."

Louise covered her face. "This has to end at some point, right? They get older and easier to manage?"

"I fucking hope so," Ben muttered. "God, I miss going to the gym. And going to the bar. I even miss taking my car to the wash." He set the paper on the nightstand, switching off the lamp. "Remember watching TV?"

Louise rolled on to her side. "I used to binge the Bachelor in the evenings. I had hours to kill. Hours."

"I used to golf." Ben laced his hands behind his head. "All eighteen holes. Do you know how long that takes?"

"Remember baths?" she asked.

Ben groaned. "I could kill for a bath."

"I know, right?" Louise smiled. "I used to spend forty minutes just soaking in the warm water. I'd even light candles and have a glass of wine. It was heaven."

Ben was watching her with an odd expression — one that she hadn't seen on his face before. A wave of self-consciousness washed over her.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing." He shifted away from her. "We need friends."

Louise frowned. "We have friends."

"No," Ben said, "we need parent friends. To look after the kids sometimes. So we can sleep and grocery shop and do everything else that normal people do."

Louise bit her lip. "Like a play group?"

"Exactly."

She propped her head up. "I don't know any of the Mums at school. Or daycare."

"Same." Ben rubbed at his jaw. It was his thinking face, Louise reflected, and then was disturbed to realize that she could identify something like that. "Why don't we have a birthday party?"

"Because it's not your birthday?"

"For Vienna," Ben said. "We could invite the other kids at daycare. Get to know some of the other parents."

She mulled this over. "You know, Langford, that isn't a bad idea."

There was a smile in his voice. "You don't need to sound so surprised."

"I'll plan it, obviously," Louise said. "Since it is my specialty."

"Done."

He closed his eyes. Louise's eyes had adjusted enough that she could make out the sharp curve of his jaw. The swell of his throat. She turned over, watching shadows flicker over the wall. One minute passed. Two.

"Pressure points," Ben said.

"What?"

"You should try pressure points." His voice was quiet. "To fall asleep. They do it in acupuncture all the time. My Mum was really into it."

She rolled over. "How does that even work?"

Ben inhaled. He seemed to be struggling with himself, Louise thought. But maybe she was misreading things, because when Ben turned to face her, his voice was calm.

"Alright," he said. "Give me your hand."

Louise did so.

Ben's hand was large and warm, and he pushed up her pajama sleeve. He pressed his thumb in between two tendons. His thumb moved in hard, clean strokes, circling the skin above her wrist. A shiver slithered down her spine.

"Do you feel that?" Ben asked.

She swallowed. "Yes."

"Is it helping?"

"Sort of," she whispered.

Heat radiated through her body. It wasn't relaxing, exactly, Louise thought, but it was pleasant. Ben shifted. He was close enough that she could feel his warm breath curl in the shell of her ear. Feel the pound of his pulse.

"Close your eyes, Bentley," he murmured.

Louise obeyed.

And for the first time in weeks, she slept.