Around three in the afternoon, Shay knocks on my door. Of course, he’s come with his bodyguard: his older sister Rochelle. I’ve cleaned up and am currently on my second glass of tomato juice. I feel fine enough. I flick the television off and throw the remote on the couch.
By the door, Shay’s two boxes of music, films, and books await him. I’ve organized everything, hoping to make up for last night’s mistake. “Hi,” I say, opening the door.
The air is cool and smells of dead leaves. A wave of sadness rolls over me and I try to smile.
“So, where’s his stuff?” Rochelle walks in, bumping my shoulder as she does. She can’t stand the sight of me, and I don’t blame her. I’ve put Shay through a lot in the last year. I’m glad she’s here for him.
“Right here,” I say, showing her the two boxes. O
