AT THE END OF THE second outing I had with Suki and Cassie, Walter was waiting for us when we got back to the house.

I've seen pictures of him on Suki's social media, but in person he seems so much like a person playing a stereotype that I can't take him seriously. Glasses, an open button-up shirt on top of another button-up shirt, a stocky man walks out of the dim hallway leading to the bedrooms and stops against the threshold.

He leans against the wood and crossed one foot in front of the other. My eyes immediately notice the heavy Timberlands on his feet, blades of grass and soil crunched into the treads.

"How was your day, hon?" Hon.

Suki smiles at Walter, her face red from walking around all day. It won't be sunburn because she's militaristic about applying sunscreen. "It was so good. The perfect temperature for going to the top of the ferries. Terrence, Walter, Walter, Terrence."

"Can you unclip me, Terrence?" Sukis is holding Cassie, hands full, who is sleepy from the sun and the activity.

I ignore the way Walter jolted, hearing the first four words, already primed to walk over and aid his damsel.

There is no other word for this backpack than contraption, with pouches and hundreds of zippers and the ability to transform into a baby carrier to keep Cassie strapped to Suki's front. My hands brush Suki's arms when I release the latches on either side of her, peeling it off her back and leaving it by the coat rack.

"I'm going to wash Cass' hands and set her down," she tells us. "Play nice."

Walter and I both watch in silence as Suki holds Cassie up by the stomach in one hand, turning on the kitchen faucet and rubbing her little hands down with soap with the other.

Only two days I've had, and I already think she is the smartest, sweetest thing I've ever met. Clearly, I'm biased. She, aged two and a bit, says short, honest things. I'm hungry. It's hot. I'm hot. Where's the boat going? I made the mistake of calling her easy-going and Suki said that a book smart mother and a street smart father make hurricanes for children. On the ferry back, she leaned over and said, "She's only behaving so well because she's in the presence of a stranger." That hurt a bit, though it's true.

When Suki walks to the bedroom, Walter asks me, "So, are you heading off soon?"

"Um, no. I was going to cook dinner and spend some time with Cassie in the evening, given that I haven't exactly been around. Suki said it was okay."

"Sure, sure, yeah. Of course it's okay."

I don't like the implication that Walter's permission is the one that I should be asking for. Once Cassie is napping, Walter opens a bag of chips and a carton of hummus for us. He puts the food on the coffee table and takes the couch space on the other side of Suki, stretching his arm along the back around her.

"Are you staying for dinner?" I ask Walter.

"No. Not that I know of." His forehead crinkles. "So what do you do?"

I want to meet her eyes, but I'm supposed to be mature now. Very responsible and accommodating. I know how the situation must look: knocking up my high school girlfriend and abandoning her to raise the kid alone. Play nice.

Suki first told me about Walter back in April. He is apparently the uncle of one of Cassie's daycare classmates, and when he saw Suki he felt compelled to ask for her number. By then, we had both moved on. I'd slept with other girls. Suki had dated one other person—a volunteer at the flight museum where she works. So Walter is not a problem, because I'm not here to get Suki back.

I'm here for Cassie.

I tell Walter that I'm a shop attendant at a tech retailer in the city. He congratulates me and tells me that's a job with plenty of mobility. When I don't deign to return the question, he inserts his own title: a paper-pusher at a mobile dentist clinic that travels to schools. Next, the car talk—I don't own one—the places we've traveled—aside from a family trip to NYC that I can't remember, I haven't been out of Massachusetts till this summer—what I think of local politics—I don't know, I'm new here.

Oh, that's a shame, oh, that's a shame, oh, that's a shame, he says.

I shouldn't be petty, but after Walter wanders to the bathroom, I lean back against the couch and whisper, "He can just ask me how much I bench-press and how big my dick is." Suki barks a laugh, scandalized, and slaps my chest. "Seriously. I don't mind. It'll be much quicker and less painful than prolonging this pissing contest."

"He's just trying to get to know you," she whispers, refolding the bag of chips into a bowl, pushing the remainders toward the rim.

"Do you really believe that?"

Suki's hand flicks to shut me up when Walter comes back. "Wal, do you want to stay for dinner? If you are, we might need to buy more ingredients."

"Buy more?"

"Terrence's recipe is very specific in terms of quantity, but I bet we could ask Georgia to pick stuff up on her way home."

I'm watching closely. Walter was trying to edge his way into the dinner plans, but somehow he won't entertain relying on Georgia to provide the food that would enable him to stay. Suki only has to say her roommate's name and his expression solidifies.

Walter casts a long, blatant glance between us before he shakes his head. "No, no, you're all good. I'll see you next week, anyway."

Suki stands up to walk him to the door.

When she returns, I pop a chip into my mouth and give her a disappointed shake of the head. "Using me as an excuse." Suki eats another chip and widens her eyes innocently. "My recipe is so specific?"

(It's shrimp pasta.)

"I just couldn't deal with you two for the rest of the evening," she relents. "Separately, you're both fine, but together, wow. Chemists could bottle and sell the testosterone. Wal is really kind. He's thoughtful. Usually. He just has his guard up."

"You don't need to explain yourself. If you're happy with him, then I'm happy you're with him."

"I just— he is always ready to lend a helping hand. He makes life easier and without me having to ask or explain too much. We haven't known each other that long, but he's very protective of me and Cassie. Maybe because it hasn't been long. He thinks you abandoned me. I don't know how many times I had to tell him that we were so young, and we both did our best. Things just happened. Georgia, though, I can't wait for you to meet her. You guys have a similar sense of humor— okay. Fine. I'll stop." Suki interrupts herself when she sees my nostalgic expression, which she misreads for amusement.

"You don't need to stop. I like listening." It reminds me of how she used to ramble, her free-verse overthinking.

She leans against a cushion and laughs at the ceiling. "If you asked anyone else in my life, they wouldn't call me an overthinker. They'd say I'm one of the most assured and driven people they know."

"I'd say that, too."

She shakes her head, sending her hair falling off her shoulders. "Yeah, but I actually never overshared with anyone but you. You just bring it out of me again. Even Wal's the talker in our relationship."

"No, really? But he's so quiet and thoughtful."

Suki pushes a cushion into my face. "Don't you have dinner to cook?"

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The field of knowledge about raising a child is vast.

Even as I was making dinner, Suki stood over my shoulder and asked me to set aside some ingredients for her to fashion a baby meal, but I insisted that if she cooked, I would feel lazy. Instead, she asked me to mince one cooked shrimp into tiny bits, and completely overcook a tiny portion of the pasta with no salt so that it's healthier and softer and easy for Cassie to chew. Just little facts like that. It's fascinating. I need to learn it all.

Suki also directs me on how to put Cassie to sleep, how to support her head, which is weighty and just seems to flop everywhere. She's like a bag of water, molding to my chest and leaning her head on my shoulder. There's a fierce fear in me when I see her lying in the bassinet, hazel eyes blinking slowly in the dark.

Her room has the palest wallpaper in the house, snow white and speckled with bows of the same shade but different texture. There's a shelf which holds infant care supplies, a dresser for her clothes and socks and shoes, and a mobile of the Solar System hanging from a pin in the ceiling and spinning slowly.

Every time I enter this room, any troubled corners of my mind become completely silent. It's the calmest I ever am. I don't believe in religion, but I know what faith is from just spending time here.

"You scare me, Cass," I admit.

"Neh," she coos, kicking her blanket off. I drape it on her lower half again.

I'm not even embarrassed when I come back out and ask Suki, "Can you come check if I tucked her in right?"

I have no idea what I'm doing, but it's nice. Rewarding. Exhilarating.

I do like Georgia. Suki will forever hold it over me, both the way she predicted our friendship and the moment at dinner Georgia went from casually asking, "How much of a headache is it to move states?" to "So, if Su hadn't left Carsonville, do you think you really would have stayed together?" and I choked on a piece of pasta. Suki smiled into her water glass as I, red in the face, pleaded tacitly with her to answer for me.

When Suki said we had similar senses of humor, I think she really meant Georgia will mock me relentlessly and I will just have to take it. The fact Georgia has no qualms about doing so is why I respect her.

The weekend day trips and dinner become routine. Suki has always wanted Cassie to be exposed to arts, culture, science, and nature growing up, and having me around as an extra pair of hands makes the day less exhausting. I can watch Cassie if she wants to take a shower, and I'll make dinner and do the dishes and put laundry on so she can get Cassie ready for bed and not have a mountain of chores waiting for her afterward.

Other times, Suki will handle dinner because she doesn't have the energy to be peppy and hands-on with Cassie, at which point I will change the nappies and do the potty training exercises. When I feel guilty about all the labor involved in parenting—the last two years she's had to do this without me—which is often, I redirect the emotion into planning the next outing.

Sometimes my only role is to deliver Suki from her house to her grandparents' house and then deliver her back in the afternoon, usually when Suki and Walter want to spend time alone. But that's only happened twice. Seeing Niko and Haru again was uncomfortable. Part of me accepts that they don't trust me to do a better job raising their granddaughter than they would. I try not to agree. I try to just be courteous and say as little as socially required. I can't doubt myself if this is really going to last—that's why Cassie terrifies me so much.

She's the one thing I can't bluff my way through.

The outings quickly become my favorite part of the week; everything becomes routine. I'm on my feet all the time at work, but I have safety there. All I need to do is answer questions about the products, initially with the help of the computer, but stock is finite and I repeat specifications about the modems, cell phones, and printer so much that it becomes memory.

The daycare staff remember me by name, and Cassie doesn't get unsettled if I'm the only one there to collect her. She starts directing little observations and questions to me. One time in July, us three were walking the pier that wraps around the ferry terminal and Cassie tapped my knee, pointed at a woman and said, "She's a banana." I was confused, until I noticed her brown sunhat and bright yellow dress, and I burst into laughter.

Suki shook her head at me, eyes twinkling, when I fought but couldn't regain my composure. She jokingly teased, "Sure, everything's hilarious when it's a two-year-old."

"I'm two," Cassie said, and I just lost it again.

It's August, the days grow long, the sky bright and milky even after sundown, so I don't mind staying late to help with the week's chores. The more time I spend here, the slower time passes.

When I first came to Washington, I remember being determined to be expedient and competent, and now sometimes I'll linger just to keep talking with Suki, who's preparing to start college this fall as an Ancient History major. It totally suits her. Even her job, content creating for the flight museum in Seattle, fulfills her. She loves visiting museums, full of social history and memories.

Suki will be at the same community college as Georgia, even though she's three years younger, and even though I don't believe in the sham of a university pipeline, Suki's still somehow right on time. She always is.

I'm the only one not not deeply worried about the shift. Clearly, availability and routines will change. But I'm not afraid of change anymore. I think between every person on the planet who loves Cassie, and the combined magnitude of that love, we'll all be just fine.