Quiet, quiet, quiet.

The whirring of the coffee grinder.

It’s already time to go.

Of course, she’s already here. She’s always on time. Always early.

He builds the nightstand while the two of us clean up the rest of his room.

The thump, thump, thump of the small inflatable basketball on the floor.

I realize that this desire to clean is about soothing my nerves.

She tells me that being nervous is a good sign, that it means I will be just fine.

We listen to him talk and talk and talk. And we laugh and laugh and laugh. I can’t take my eyes off of him.

What am I going to put that caramel on?