Byron flicks on the lights in the living room, and Mariah squeals and runs to the carpet and says, “Daddydaddydaddy I LOVE IT.”
Melanie’s leaning against the doorframe, frowning just a little. “Byron, are you sure about this?”
Byron puts his hands on her hips. “It’s fine. I got my first Persian when I was twelve. Younger than Mar.”
“Yes, but you nearly got expelled.”
“That was a long time ago.”
Mariah folds up the tassled edge and bounces on the spot. “When can I learn?”
Byron’s about to answer when the rug flies straight into the wall.