But one morning, Josie woke before him and wandered into our room instead.
She climbed between Daniel and me without asking and fell asleep again.
When Jace found her there, he stopped in the doorway.
For once, he didn’t immediately call her back to him.
He just stood there for a second, then quietly walked away.
When Jace found her there, he stopped in the doorway.
Jace was harder to read.
He was polite. Almost painfully polite. He never asked for anything, ate whatever I cooked, and kept his room unnaturally neat.
After a week, I realized why.
He hadn’t unpacked.
Jace was harder to read.
His clothes were still inside two duffel bags.
His books remained in his backpack.
His shoes sat beside his suitcase.
“You know you can use the dresser,” I told him one afternoon. “And the closet.”
“Okay.”
But he didn’t move.
His clothes were still inside two duffel bags.
I wanted to ask why.
Instead, I let it go.
Something told me pushing him would only make him zip the bags tighter.
After that, I stopped mentioning them.
But every few days, I found myself checking.
I wanted to ask why.
The bags never moved.
Everything else in the house slowly started belonging to Jace — a basketball by the back door, his cereal in the pantry, his charger permanently stealing an outlet in the kitchen.
Only his bedroom still looked temporary.
***
A month passed.
The bags never moved.
Josie started calling our house “home.”
Jace stopped calling us “sir” and “ma’am.”
One night at dinner, Daniel made an awful joke about pasta, and Jace laughed so hard milk came out of his nose.
Josie screamed with delight.
I laughed until my stomach hurt.
Josie started calling our house “home.”
For a few minutes, nobody was careful.
Nobody was measuring the room.
Nobody was waiting for the next problem.
Then Jace reached across the table and stole a piece of garlic bread from Daniel’s plate.
Daniel slapped his hand away.
“Get your own.”
For a few minutes, nobody was careful.
Jace grinned and took it anyway.
It was such a stupid, ordinary thing.
But it was the first time I’d seen him act like he expected to be there tomorrow.
I remember looking around the table and thinking, This is it.
***
The next afternoon, my phone rang.
It was such a stupid, ordinary thing.
