Lauren brought pizza and set the box on the floor, because there was no table yet, no chairs, nothing but a house that smelled like paint and new carpet pad.

“Mom.

There’s a maple tree in that backyard the size of a church.”

“I saw it.”

She folded her legs under her and handed me a slice, and her phone slid off her lap and landed face down.

The screen had a crack running corner to corner, and she turned it over and checked it the way you check a cut.

“That’s been there since July,” she said.