He had made all of this. Out of nothing, out of chaos and debt and years of holding the walls up with his bare hands. He had made a home where these people felt safe enough to argue about thesis statements and throw flashcards and eat cold pizza on a Thursday evening and assume he would be there when they needed him.
I'd spent my entire adult life being responsible. I'd been quietly proud of that. Considered it a thing I'd built.
Looking at Soren's living room, I understood I'd had no idea what building something actually took.
“You're staring,” Soren said, without looking at me.
“I'm thinking.”
“About what?”
I picked up my coffee and drank the last of it, which had gone cold. “Nothing. What time does Talia get back?”
He checked his phone. “Forty minutes. Why?”
“Just making sure I'm not here when she walks in at the end of a long day and has to deal with an unexpected person in her living room.”
“Talia likes you.”
“Talia tolerates me and the last time we met I was carrying her unconscious brother, which is a specific set of conditions that makes most people civil.”
“She'll be glad you came,” he said, and there was something in the delivery that meant him as much as her.
Poppy looked up from her laptop. “Are you coming back?” she asked, straight out, the way she did everything.
“If I'm invited,” I said.
She considered this. “You helped with my thesis statement and you fixed Micah's card situation in four minutes, so I think you've earned a standing invitation.” She looked at Soren. “He's earned a standing invitation.”
“You don't run the building,” Soren said.
“I'm saying what I think.”
“You're always saying what you think, Poppy. That's not a rare occurrence.”
“It's efficient.” She was back to her laptop. “Rook, you have a standing invitation.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Bring donuts next time.”
“Poppy,” Soren said.
“What? It's a reasonable request. Donuts from the College Street place. Not the grocery store kind.”
“I'll keep that in mind,” I said.
From the floor, Micah said, without looking up from his flashcards, “And the chocolate. He should bring the chocolate.”
“I'm surrounded by opportunists,” Soren told his coffee mug.
“You raised us,” Poppy said.
He had no response to that, which seemed like a fair outcome.
I leftat twenty past eight.
Soren walked me to the door, and we stood in the hallway outside the apartment for a moment in the particular way that meant neither of us was quite ready to close the distance to a goodbye.
