More Than Roommates
But I don’t.
Instead, I open our last conversation.
Seth: Just smile and nod.
I type I’m trying and stare at the words until they blur then I delete them.
I hear mom’s voice drifts through the kitchen window, soft but strained. “He just needs time,” she says to someone.
Maybe she’s right and maybe she isn’t.
The night air stings, and I realize my hands are trembling.
I tilt my head back, stare at the blinking lights and let out a slow, unsteady breath.