Dayo woke to the sound of Jennifer fussing through the baby monitor. Not crying, just the irritated grunts she made when she was hungry and the world was not moving fast enough. He lay in Luna's guest room for a moment, listening to the sounds of the apartment waking up. Luna's voice, soft and singsong, answering the fussing. The click of the bottle warmer. The creak of a cabinet.
He had slept four hours. It felt like more.
In the kitchen, Luna stood at the counter in a faded sweatshirt, holding Jennifer against her hip with one arm while she shook formula with the other. The baby saw Dayo in the doorway and made a sound that might have been recognition. Or just noise. At six months, the line was thin.
"Morning," Luna said. She didn't turn around.
"Morning." Dayo poured coffee from the pot she had already made. It was strong and slightly burnt, the way she always made it. He sat at the small table and watched her finish the bottle test on her wrist. "You were up early."
