The only thing Anthony has to do all day is look after Olivia and Marlon, and he can’t even do that right. “Where’s Daddy?” I say. That’s what they call him so that’s why I say it—but this time it almost makes me puke. Olivia doesn’t turn away from the screen. “Downstairs. But you’re not supposed to bother him, Paddy. He’s doing his yoga.” “Okay,” I say and take them both by the shoulders and drag them back a few feet. I head down to the basement. Anthony is sitting cross-legged on his purple mat, in a special yoga outfit that he ordered from California. The pants only come to his calves. They’ve got little slits behind the knees. If they were pink, they’d look like something Olivia would wear. It’s stupid but that makes me even madder. I try not to let it show. “Hey,” I say. I know he hears me, but he doesn’t respond. I feel weirdly pumped. Not angry anymore. Just kind of alert. Like I’m standing in the wings, waiting to go onstage. I lean against the washing machine and watch as Anthony pulls himself into another pose.
