CHICAGO
The flat was on the north side.
Jasmine had found it online during the two weeks between her decision and our departure — two bedrooms, a living room with windows that faced the street, a kitchen large enough for a table. Third floor of a brownstone on a tree-lined street that had the specific quiet confidence of a neighborhood that had been good for a long time.
We arrived at six in the evening.
The moving company had brought our things ahead. The boxes were stacked in the living room when we came through the door. Liam walked in ahead of me and stood in the center of the space with Gerald under his arm and looked around.
"Ours?" he said.
"Ours," I said.
He nodded.
He went to find his other trucks.
We unpacked over the weekend.
Jasmine's room first — she had a system, bo
