My mother’s insurance money sat in an account in my own name at the credit union, twenty-six thousand four hundred dollars, untouched since her funeral.

Julian had never once asked about it.

I counted what I had the way I used to count the days until a vacation.

A full tank of gas.

My own car, paid off in 2019 out of my own paycheck.

Down the hall the television switched to a commercial, and Julian said something in his sleep that I couldn’t make out.

Two o’clock tomorrow, I wrote on the back of the grocery list.