“Dave,” Sophia said from inside the second bedroom, “if you tell me one more time that I’m stacking boxes incorrectly I’m going to put all of them in your room.”
“You are stacking them incorrectly,” Dave said. “The weight distribution—”
“I know about weight distribution.”
“Then why are you ignoring it.”
A pause.
“Because I disagree with the principle in this context,” Sophia said.
Cloe stood in the hallway of the new apartment with a box in her arms and listened to this and felt something warm move through her chest that had nothing to do with the lifting.
Three weeks had passed since Eleanor’s dinner. Three weeks of packing and planning and the specific domestic chaos of two households becoming one. Mac’s things. Her things. Dave’s things. The negotiation of whose bookshelf went wh
