“It’s not invasive,” Cynnie says. “I live in Yorkville.”
“You had a way to come to the playgroup,” I observe. “You didn’t come by yourself on the subway, did you?”
“No, I took an Uber. It’s not safe for me on the subway when I’m in littlespace and going to playgroup always makes me feel little.”
The concern that gripped me at the idea of her on the subway, even on a Sunday afternoon, eases. “Good. That’s good.”
“Max? I have to go to bed soon, but is there any chance you would read me a story? I can send you a link to my bedtime book.”
I settle back into my beanbag, relaxing rather than wallowing now. “Absolutely, girlie-girl. What am I reading you?”
“It’s called the Very Hairy Bumblebee. It’s my favorite.”
My phone pings with the link and I tap over to it. She’s loaned me the book and I quickly download the reading app, since I don’t read books on my phone. When I open the book, I discover it’s an illustrated kid’s book about the misadventures of a bumblebee that looks like an exploding dust bunny, only with yellow and black stripes.
As I read the book to her, I can hear her little yawns in the background. They trigger mine, and by the time the very hairy bumblebee makes it back to his hive, covered in pollen and looking like an exploding orange dust bunny, I’m ready to call it a night.
I close the reading app. “Are you ready for bed, Cynnie?”
“I hazn’t brushed my teeth,” she says.
“Go brush your teeth and use the potty so you don’t have to get up in the night and then take the phone with you to bed and I’ll say goodnight.”
She giggles. “Okay.”
She takes the phone into the bathroom, because I hear the water running, but that’s fine because I do, too, after racing through my apartment to turn off the lights. I mute my phone while I use the toilet and beat her to bed by only a few seconds.
“Max, are you still there?”
I curse and fumble to unmute my phone. “Yes, I’m here. Are you in bed?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you have cute jammies to wear to bed?”
I sleep naked but I like the idea of her in cute jammies.
“Mmm, I’z my onesie.”
Heat shoots to my groin at the mental image of Cynnie in a onesie like the one Emily wore the other night.
“Do you have your bee to snuggle with?” I wrack my brain for the name of her stuffie. “Buzzybee, right?”
“You ‘membered. I haz Buzzy and my caterpillar.”
“Are you all tucked in tight?”
“Uh-huh. Youz?”
“Me?”
“Youz tucked in tight?”
She sounds so sweetly sleepy.
I pull the sheet and weighted blanket I sleep under up onto my chest so I’m being truthful with her when I answer, “I’m tucked in tight. Do you have a time you have to be up in the morning?”
“Nuh-uh. Monday’s my sleep-in day.”
