I placed it on the shelf, not where she would have put it or where I would have put it before, but somewhere between those two instincts. I didn’t pause after that. I kept going.
One record, then another. Hers, then mine, then hers again, until the distinction stopped mattering and my hands moved without checking which pile I was pullingfrom. I adjusted as I went, shifting things slightly when they didn’t sit right, stepping back occasionally to see how it was coming together without trying to perfect it.
Time passed without marking itself. At some point I leaned back against the wall and looked at what I had done.
The shelves no longer read as two collections occupying the same space. They read as one conversation, layered, uneven in places, but intentional in a way I hadn’t allowed before.
I sat with that for a while. Then I looked over at the photograph that was still leaning where I had left it. This time, I didn’t hesitate.
I picked up my phone and typed before I could edit it into something safer.
Feel like coming by to hang a picture?
I hit send and set the phone down on the coffee table, forcing myself not to pick it back up immediately.
He didn’t take long.
By the time I heard the buzzer downstairs, I had moved the frame to the center of the room, cleared the space around the wall where it would go, and put onWho Is Jill Scott?, something about that album always settling things. I wiped my hands on the back of my jeans without thinking, then crossed to the door.
He stood there with a bag in one hand, his shoulders relaxed in a way that would have read as casual to anyone who didn’t know him. I knew better. There was a slight hold in the way he stood, like he had already consideredwhat this was and had decided to meet it without naming it first.
“Whaddup,” he said.
“Hey.”
I stepped back to let him in. He closed the door behind him and followed me up the steps, his gaze moving around the space, him taking in the small changes without commenting on them. He always noticed more than he said.
“What’s in the bag?” I asked, nodding toward it.
“Hammer. Level. Hooks,” he said. “You know, everything one would need for a midnight repair job.”
I laughed. “You came prepared. Just happy you came through this late.”
He glanced at me briefly. “You asked.”
That was all he offered. He set the bag down and picked up the frame without asking.
“Wow. Look at her,” he said.
I nodded, watching him instead of the picture. He took his time with it.
“She looks like she’s in the middle of something,” he said.
“She always was,” I replied. “That’s the only place she didn’t have to be anything else.”
“Where do you want it?”
I moved back a few steps. “Centered on that wall.”
He positioned it, holding it in place while I adjusted from across the room.
“A little to the left,” I said.
He shifted it.
“Back the other way.”
He adjusted again.
