The sound eased something inside me.
Then I looked at her again.
“You’ve listened to me cry.”
Her smile faded.
“You’ve listened to me say the same things over and over again.”
“You were processing.”
“I was repeating myself.”
“Both can be true.”
I smiled.
“You’ve let me take over your apartment.”
“You’ve taken over my apartment.”
“I know.”
“You’ve taken over my closet.”
“I needed clothes.”
“You have your own clothes.”
“Not emotionally appropriate clothes.”
She laughed again.
I smiled, but my throat had begun to tighten.
“You’ve stayed.”
That silenced her.
I stared out the window.
“You didn’t have to.”
Neither of us spoke.
The car continued moving through the evening traffic.
“I know,” she said quietly.
“I know you didn’t have to stay.”
She swallowed.
“But I wanted
