I moved in on a Saturday.
My dad helped carry boxes, grumbling good-naturedly the entire way up in the elevator about how nobody in this family ever seemed to own fewer books than they could actually carry in one trip.
"You know they make libraries now," he said, setting down his third box of hardcovers with an exaggerated groan, "you don't have to personally own every book ever written."
My cousin Danielle showed up an hour later with takeout and a great many opinions about where my couch should go, none of which I ended up taking, though I let her believe for the rest of the afternoon that I might, mostly because arguing with Danielle about furniture placement was easier than thinking too hard about anything else that day.
My mother walked through every single room twice, notepad i
