The short drive from the elementary school isn’t enough to shake them free of the day, so when we walk into the kitchen where the heart of my mother work beats, I turn on some music and dance the baby to his high chair. Titus has never been given a dance party, so this is the day. Jude feels it, because he lives closest to the wind. Isaac’s worried forehead holds the tension, trying to keep it tightened and locked, but as he fiddles with the spelling pages and sits for hovering homework, he lets it lose.

Ian takes my hands and we twirl, and Jude never stops his feet, never doesn’t feel the wave in his back. I’m laughing, and the baby bobs his head, and certainly we were made for this: dancing, the party, a chance to break free from the heavy and shake out the day.

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