“Give her space,” Meg advised quietly.
“Right. Space.” Tyler looked at the closed door like it was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. “I should... my room’s all yours. I already grabbed what I need.”
“Tyler, that couch is tiny?—”
He was already moving toward the living room, clearly done discussing it.
Meg followed, watching as he attempted to arrange his six-foot-two frame on the loveseat. It was almost comical, if it weren’t so obviously uncomfortable.
“This is ridiculous,” she said.
“It’s fine.”
“Your knees are bent at a ninety-degree angle.”
“I’m very flexible.”
“Since when?”
“Since now.” He shifted, trying to find a position that didn’t require contortionist skills. “Seriously, Meg. Go to bed. It’s been a long day.”
Music started filtering through the spare room door—something with a heavy beat and indecipherable lyrics.
“She’s playing music,” Tyler said, a note of wonder in his voice.
“That’s what teenagers do.”
“Right. Normal teenager things.” He shifted again, wincing. “This is fine. Everything’s fine.”
“Keeptelling yourself that.”
“I will. Now go.”
Meg retreated to Tyler’s room, feeling strange about invading his private space. The bed was neatly made, camera equipment organized on the dresser, a few photos tacked to the wall—mostly landscapes, but one of the three siblings from years ago, sun-bleached and smiling.
She changed quickly and crawled into bed, trying not to think about how wrong this all felt. Through the wall, she could hear Stella’s music—loud enough to make a point but not quite loud enough to complain about.
Her phone buzzed. Anna.
How’s everyone settling in?
Tyler’s pretending the couch fits him. Stella’s barricaded in her room with loud music. I’m in Tyler’s bed feeling weird about it.
Wait, why are you in Tyler’s bed???
Long story. Sleeping arrangements are complicated.
I need details!
Tomorrow. Too tired now.
Is she nice?
She’s sixteen and defensive.
So... a teenager.
Exactly.
