Long enough for the house to stop feeling foreign.
Long enough for me to feel like I’ve been here much longer.
Despite how much I’m enjoying my new job with these two amazing kids, I can’t deny I’m looking forward to the weekend.
Two days of sleeping in. Letting my body recover. Maybe stopping by the shelter if I can carve out the time. I miss the dogs. Miss the way they love without expectation.
Maybe I’ll eventually be able to convince Hayden to let me take Jemmy to walk the dogs. There’s no doubt in my mind he’d love it. Jemmy seems to have the same thirst for adventure I do.
I want to do everything I can to nurture that.
Which is why I took a risk and asked — or, more appropriately, begged — Hayden to let me take Jemmy to story time at the library today.
He was reluctant at first, but I reminded him of the importance of socialization, even for young kids, so he eventually agreed and allowed me to take his spare car. Although he made me swear I’d keep my hands at ten and two on the wheel, that I wouldn’t text, and wouldn’t go even a mile over the speed limit.
He was definitely a bit overbearing, but it was worth it.
Jemmy loved every second of it. He even made some new friends, so afterwards we went across the street to the park to spend even more time with them.
By the time we got home, Jemmy was exhausted.
Getting him down for his nap was effortless. No fussing. No protest. Just a soft dinosaur roar and heavy-lidded eyes.
I close the door to his room and stand in the hallway for a second longer than necessary, listening to the hush of the house.
Silence like this is rare.
I consider napping myself, but I know if I lie down, I won’t want to get back up. So after making myself a quick salad, I head toward the toy room and start picking up all the toys Jemmy took out to play with this morning.
It’s not as bad as it usually is, since we were out of the house most of the morning. But I still spot a trail of cereal leading to a flipped-over bowl. I pick up what Ican, but there are still crumbs, so I go hunting for the vacuum, finding one in the hallway closet.
After vacuuming the toy room, I decide to keep going. The living room. The hallway. The office. I never thought I would enjoy vacuuming as much as I do now. Maybe because I’ve been living in a van for the past few months, but there’s something oddly therapeutic about sucking up all the dust and grime, leaving behind something clean.
Like a fresh start.
After I finish in the office, I bend to unplug the cord behind the desk, and my elbow hits a stack of folders, knocking them onto the floor, papers spilling everywhere.
“Crap,” I mutter, hastily gathering them up and reorganizing them into a neat stack.
That’s when I see it.
An envelope half-tucked inside a folder. Plain. Unassuming.
But the return address makes my chest seize so hard I forget how to breathe.
I know that logo. Know that nonprofit.
It’s the one I worked with to send a letter to the family of the person who donated their heart to me.
I should forget I ever saw it.
Hayden’s a doctor. There could be dozens of reasons he might have a letter from this nonprofit.
But my fingers move anyway, pulling out the envelope and lifting the opened flap to retrieve the contents.
My heart races, my hands becoming unsteady as I unfold the piece of paper.
And when I do, it feels as if all the air has been sucked from my lungs, the room spinning around me.
