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But even though it doesn’t feel like my home at all, I haven’t been able to solidify the fact that they’re gone. And the decor in this townhouse feels like the last piece of them. Looking around, I can take comfort in the paint colors my mom chose, the decor she probably hung herself while Dad was at work, the furniture they sat in. I can still picture my dad sitting on the front stoop beside Noah in the morning. Dad sipping his coffee, and tiny Noah sitting in his lap.

This isn’t even the house I grew up in, and yet, I feel emotionally attached to it. After my parents had me, they tried for years to get pregnant again. Once they finally gave up, it happened. Hence the age gap between my brother and I. By the time my parents sold our house in Virginia and moved into this place so Dad could be closer to work and spend more time with me and Noah, I was already starting high school.

It would probably be good for me, and for Noah, to spruce the place up… together. To put our own stamp on it.

I’ll add that to my never-ending list of things to do.

Slipping off my tennis shoes, I slide down the hallway covered in laminate wood flooring. I expect to find Ronda and Noah at the kitchen island doing homework, but instead find Ronda on the sofa by herself, a worried expression causing her eyebrows to droop.

She perks up a little when I enter the room. “Ah, Andie. You’re home.”

“Everything okay?” I sit next to her on the couch and she leans back into the cushions.

“Everything’s fine, I think. It’s just Noah seemed extra moody when I picked him up from practice. He hardly uttered a word to me. But he finished his homework.”

I relax, allowing my body to sink into the sofa. Leaning my head back, I take a deep breath, and after a moment I turn to look at Ronda. “So, he usually talks to you?”

Her head leans to the side slightly as she studies me. “Of course. He tells me about his day, and always informs me how many pucks he got in the net during practice.” She smiles to herself.

My eyes start to burn and I try to will the sensation away. I will not make Ronda feel bad for Noah opening up to her. I won’t. It’s not her fault my brother barely speaks to me.

Clearing the knot that has lodged itself in my throat, I try to huff out a casual laugh. “That’s great.”

She stands up and takes a few steps toward the small kitchen. “I’ll warm you up some dinner. You want a glass of wine?”

I lean forward to stand up but she glowers at me. “Don’t you dare. Sit down and relax.”

Knowing better than to argue with her, I stay put. “You know that patient in room 504?”

She rolls her eyes. “Do I ever. Most high-maintenance patient on the floor.”

“He was one of my patients today, so I don’t even have the energy to feed myself.”

She chuckles. “Sorry, sugar, but I draw the line at feeding you.”

I laugh. “I’ll muster up the energy to lift the fork to my mouth. What’s on the menu tonight?”

“Tender cuts of chicken, breaded with rare italian bread crumbs. And pasta in a decadent cream sauce,” she replies, grabbing a stemless wine glass from the cabinet and filling it halfway with moscato.

“So, chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese?”

“Yep.” She smiles, bringing me a plate full of dinner and the glass of wine.

I take the items from her, placing the plate on my lap and the glass on the ottoman in front of the couch. “Thanks, Ronda. For everything.” I smile. “This actually looks delicious. Even though it’ll go straight to my thighs.”

She smacks my knee gently. “Oh, you stop that! Men like a little junk in the trunk, anyway.”

I gasp. “Ronda! You are so naughty.”

She rolls her eyes and walks back into the kitchen where her coat and purse are resting on a bar stool. “You guys need anything else before I head out?”

“Nah, we’re good. I’ll see you at work tomorrow?” I ask through a mouthful of macaroni and cheese. I wash it down quickly with the wine.

“I’ll be there.” She slides her coat over her shoulders just as Noah clomps down the stairs, his hair is wet from his shower and he has plaid pajama pants on with no shirt.

His shoulders slump for a second when he sees Ronda with her coat and purse. “Are you leaving?”

She ruffles his damp hair. “Yeah, buddy. I’ll see you next week?”