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Theres a stain on the floor mat of the passenger seat, an old mess from when Caleb spilled a chocolate milkshake. It happened years ago, long before we were married, back when I was stupid and didn't take care of anything. I let the car bake in the sun all weekend until it smelled like spoiled milk. Caleb, who always had taken care of his cars, was appalled, and took the mat to the self-service carwash when he found out, spraying it down and getting himself soaked in the process.

It didn't totally get rid of it, but he wasn't a magician. "I'm a repairman, not a detailer." I teased him about how the stain was his fault in the first place, but he told me he thought I would just rinse it off with the garden hose when I got home. I didn't tell him how I spent the weekend in a combination of long-call and dealing with a near-catatonic Maya. But he read my mind anyway.

"Is she coming back to work soon? Your sister?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

Now, years later, the stain is just a blip, just a small discoloration on the passenger seat mat. I mostly only notice it because there's nearly never a passenger beside me in the car. Now, it's Maya taking care of Caleb.