32 From the notebook of Elijah Iverson
I don’t know what I’m doing right now. What am I doing?
I was supposed to use this train ride to catch up on emails and organize my notes.
But I’m not working so much as I’m staring at the screen of my laptop, and I’m not staring at the screen so much as I’m watching Aiden out of the corner of my eye. He’s sleeping with his arms folded on the table between us, his head pillowed on his arms and his eyelashes long and dark against his cheeks. If not for the monk’s robes and the stray thread of silver glinting in his hair, he could be a college student stealing a nap between classes. He could be nothing but Sean’s little brother again, long limbs sprawling and dangling everywhere as he sleeps on the basement couch.
Over the course of the last two
