“No.”
For one second, we both smiled.
Then the grief came back.
When we left the café, Mallory hesitated outside.
“I’m not ready to call you family.”
“I don’t expect anything from you.”
I nodded.
“I don’t know what I can give.”
“That’s okay.”
“I’m not ready to call you family.”
That evening, I finally opened the bedroom closet.
“I know.”
“But I’m not angry at you.”
Her eyes filled.
“Okay.”
That evening, I finally opened the bedroom closet.
I found a folded receipt.
Warren’s jackets were still hanging where he left them. I had avoided touching them because moving anything felt like admitting he wasn’t coming back.
In the pocket of his gray coat, I found a folded receipt.
One black coffee.
