A few weeks after we moved in, we invited Nick’s sister, Nora, her husband, Rick, and their 11-year-old son, Tommy, to visit.
Alice was excited too. Unlike Tommy, she was quiet, thoughtful, and creative, often found reading or sketching in her notebook. Though they were in the same class at school, the two couldn’t have been more different.
The visit started fine. Nora and Rick brought wine, and Tommy immediately took off his shoes and bolted up the stairs like he owned the place.
“Tommy! Don’t run!” Nora called after him, not moving an inch from the doorway.
“Let him explore. He’s just excited.” Rick chuckled.
I forced a smile and handed them drinks, ignoring the sound of feet pounding through the upstairs hallway.
The next morning, we planned a day trip to the amusement park for the kids. The car was packed, sunscreen was applied, and we were just about to leave when Tommy suddenly said, “I gotta use the bathroom!”
“You can go quickly,” I said, unlocking the door for him. “Just the guest bathroom downstairs, okay? We’re already running late.”
He nodded and slipped inside. A couple of minutes later, he came out, shrugging his backpack over his shoulders.
“You good?” Nick asked.
“Yep!” Tommy said brightly, already racing toward the car.
