“I understand.”

For the first time, I thought she might.

After she left, I put the casserole in the oven and called Marisol.

We ate together at my little table, passing Miles between us while he discovered the joy of knocking a spoon onto the floor.

Marisol looked around the apartment.

“You know what I like best?” she asked.

“The rent?”

“The fact that every single thing in here is where you decided to put it.”