Page 65 of Ransom

Silence.

I crack the door open. "I'm coming in. Hope you're decent." I didn't know that stripping in your sleep was a thing, but Max has a hard time keeping his pajamas on and the covers on him.

Thankfully, this morning he's buried under a mountain of blankets, only a tuft of hair visible. I dig around for his feet and yank. "Rise and shine, monster!"

He shrieks with laughter as I drag him out, his little body wriggling like a fish on a line. "Son of a bitch, Blair!" he exclaims, his voice pitched high with glee.

That sets me off. Any kid swearing, any time, I'm laughing. How can you not? It helps that I'm not the parent and I don't have to worry about manners and shit. Being the fun aunt is, well, fun. It's all the perks of hanging out with kids without the responsibility of raising them.

"Language, you little jerk," I scold playfully, my fingers finding his ticklish spots easily. I tickle his feet mercilessly, and he squirms away, his laughter echoing off the walls. Finally, he tumbles onto the floor, snorting with laughter, his pajamas twisted around his small frame.

My chest gets tight as I watch Max giggle uncontrollably. These moments of pure joy are precious, especially now. Maggie's illness has cast a long shadow over this household, andI know it's been particularly hard on Max. He's too young to fully understand, but kids are perceptive—they pick up on the worry, the hushed conversations, the change in atmosphere.

That's why I've been doubling down on the fun aunt routine lately. Every laugh, every smile I can coax out of him feels like a small victory against the loss that's coming for all of us. It's not much in the grand scheme of things, but if I can give Max these little pockets of happiness, these moments where he can just be a carefree kid, then maybe, just maybe, it'll help him weather the storm that's coming.

Max squirms away, giggling. "Okay, okay! I'm up!"

"Good. Now get on my back, you koala. We've got breakfast to conquer."

He scrambles onto my back, wrapping his arms around my neck. "Onward, noble steed!"

I snort. "I'm not a horse, you little weirdo."

"Then why do you neigh?"

"I don't neigh?—"

"Neigh!"

I roll my eyes. "Fine. Neigh."

We clomp to the kitchen, Max bouncing on my back. I dump him unceremoniously into a chair.

"What's for breakfast?" he asks, swinging his legs.

"How about cereal?"

"Boring," he groans dramatically. "Mrs. Thompson brought us a pie. There's still some left. I'll eat that."

"You can't eat pie for breakfast."

"Why not? It's got fruit."

"Not a bad point." I pull out the pie, cut him a chunk, then pour a glass of milk and pop it in front of him. "There. Breakfast is served."

He cackles and digs in. "You're my favorite aunt."

"I'm flattered. Now hurry up before your mom sees. If she asks, what are you going to tell her?"

"Aunt Blair fed me a nutritious breakfast with all four food groups."

This kid. "Four food groups, huh? Can you name them, the four groups?" He stares at me blankly, then shovels another forkful of pie into his mouth.

"That's what I thought. Maybe just say you had breakfast and leave it at that?"

"You got it, lady," he shouts through the mouthful of pie. There's a look in his eye I don't like. Little shit's going to rat me out, I know it.

We stroll down Main Street,the morning sun warming our faces. Maggie's arm is linked through mine, our steps in sync after years of friendship.