Abby went downstairs while Joe was showering. She had gone first and was already dressed by the time he finally rolled out of bed, hair sticking up and eyes barely open. She left her own hair down and damp, cool against her back as she padded downstairs barefoot.
Her mom was in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher. The morning light filtered in through the window over the sink, catching in the steam rising from a freshly rinsed mug.
“Hey, sweetie,” Leah said with a smile.
“Morning.” Abby opened the cabinet and grabbed a bag of bagels, moving around the kitchen with easy familiarity. Nothing had really changed in the twenty years her parents had lived here. Same worn tile. Same faint hum of the refrigerator. Same tiny crack in the corner cabinet door.
“Where’s Joe?”
“In the shower.” Abb
