So I stuck it into a book. A collection of poems by ee cummings.

On the hour-long drive to Mom’s apartment, I sang along to the radio at the top of my lungs.

“Stop me, oh, oh, oh, stop me. Stop me if you think that you’ve heard this one before…”

It had been a while since I’d driven my car further than to and from the grocery store or to the mall, so it felt nice to be driving long distances again. I turned off the AC and pulled down the windows so that I could feel the crisp, October wind blow through my hair. The leaves were just beginning to turn color. This was my favorite time of year to be in New York.

That night after I’d brought up all my boxes into my old bedroom, I sat eating dinner with Mom, pizza from Lou’s across the street.

“How are things with Carl going?” she asked as she took a bite out of her slice.

“They’re going.”

“Oh yeah? You don’t sound too thrilled.”

“It’s just hard to trust him again, after what he did, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. Did you ever hear from Sebastian again?”