We step inside, and Lucy drops her backpack and runs straight toward her bedroom.
Erin follows more slowly, taking in the entryway, the light, and the way the house feels lived-in, in a peaceful, warm way.
Lucy skids to a stop in her doorway and gasps, seeing that her room is empty.
She turns to me slowly. “Mommy?”
Erin looks at me like I have just emotionally wrecked a toddler.
I smile. “Upstairs.”
Lucy’s eyes widen, and she sprints; we follow.
She bursts into the sage room and freezes again, but this time in awe.
She walks in slowly, like she’s entering somewhere sacred.
“This is mine,” she whispers.
“Yes.”
She spins once in the center of the room.
Erin presses her hand to her chest.
I cross to the window and close it gently. There’s still a faint draft from the painters’ earlier, but I can’t leave it open. I latch it carefully.
Lucy flops onto her bed dramatically.
“It smells new.”
“Not new, it’s the same one.”
Erin crouches beside her. “You’re upstairs now.” Lucy nods. “Promoted.”
I laugh. “Exactly.”
“And you?” Erin asks quietly.
“I moved into his room,” I say simply.
She studies me.
“You’re calm.”
“I’m choosing calm.”
“And he’s…”
“We met in September,” I rub my hand over my stomach. “I learned his family name, so it never clicked that he was …him. Life has always been warp speed to reach my goals. I’ll tell you everything after bedtime.”
We ordered dinner from Carbone because Erin is in New York, and if you’re visiting the city, you eat like you are… which is what Google told me.
Spicy rigatoni. Meatballs the size of Lucy’s fists. Caesar salad. Garlic bread that smells sinful.
Lucy eats exactly four bites and then melts sideways in her seat. “Daddy’s number ni?—”
Out.
