(Ridge)
By the time the last person cleared out, the room looked like family had torn through it and enjoyed themselves doing it.
Half empty cups sat on tables. Plates were stacked near the sink where Mom had started cleaning before I told her to leave it until morning. A blanket Harlow had dragged in was hanging off the couch. The fire had burned low.
Mira stood near the counter with one hand at her back, watching the door like she still expected somebody else to walk in.
“You alright?” I asked.
She looked at me and smiled. “You’ve asked me that all day.”
“I’ll ask again.”
“I’m tired.”
“That answer I believe.”
I crossed the room and took the plate from her hand before she could start helping.
“You’re done.”
“I live here too.”
“Not tonight.”
She laughed. “Bossy.”
“Correct.”
