Strangely, that made both of us calmer.
One evening she watched me struggle with a stuck window.
“Call Uncle Mason.”
“I can do it.”
“Dad.”
“What?”
“That phrase should be illegal.”
I stared at her.
Laurel had corrupted my child.
In September, Laurel’s lease came up for renewal.
By then, she spent most evenings at my house.
A drawer in my bedroom held her clothes.
Her favorite tea occupied half a kitchen shelf.
A second toothbrush appeared beside mine without discussion.
More importantly, there were signs of her everywhere in Sophie’s world too.
A spare hair tie in Laurel’s purse.
A software game on Sophie’s tablet Laurel had helped choose.
A pair of slippers Sophie insisted Laurel keep beside the back door.
A photograph on the refrigerator from the county fair showing the three of us holding an enormous stuffed bear neither adult had wanted to carry.
Still, when I asked Laurel whether she wanted to move in, she stared at me as if I had proposed something far more serious.
“Are you asking because my building has stairs?”
“No.”
“Because your kitchen has lower cabinets?”
“No.”
“Because Clare suggested it?”
“She has suggested it six times.”
Laurel waited.
I took her hand.
“I’m asking because every time you leave, the house feels like it’s waiting for you to come back.”
Her eyes filled.
“That was unfairly good.”
“I practiced.”
“How many times?”
“Enough that Clare threatened to stop answering my calls.”
Laurel smiled.
Then her expression became serious.
“What does Sophie think?”
“I haven’t asked her.”
Her face changed immediately.
“Graham.”
“I wanted to ask you first.”
“No.”
“No?”
“You don’t ask me first.”
I understood.
This was exactly what made Laurel different.
She had never treated Sophie as luggage attached to my life.
“Okay.”
That evening, Laurel went home.
I sat with Sophie at the kitchen table.
She was doing homework.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Is it about fractions?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I hesitated.
She noticed.
“What?”
“How would you feel if Laurel lived here?”
Sophie stopped writing.
“Like all the time?”
“Yes.”
“In your room?”
“That is generally how adults who live together—”
“Dad.”