“I know, sweetheart.”
“This house is where he still feels close.”
Mom looked around the hallway.
“He feels close to me here too.”
“I lost Dad too.”
“Then how can you leave?”
She picked up Dad’s jacket and folded it carefully.
“Because missing him and living aren’t opposites.”
***
That evening, I called Ryan over.
Ryan looked around at the boxes.
“I’ll miss the house,” he said.
“Then how can you leave?”
Then he opened Dad’s toolbox. “Can I have the socket set?”
Mom laughed. “You may.”
“I hate change too. But she’s allowed to want it.”
Then he kissed Mom’s cheek, took the socket set, and left us with pizza.
He didn’t solve anything.
“She’s allowed to want it.”
***
Two days later, Mom called.
“Can you come over?”
My usual answer was already there: of course.
Instead, I asked, “Do you want me to?”
“Yes.”
“Can you come over?”
***
At the kitchen table, she pushed a folded page toward me.
