She answers on the second ring. "Caleb?"
"Hi, Mom."
"It is late."
"It's only ten there."
"Late for you to call me without a calendar invitation."
"I don't send calendar invitations for family calls."
"You sent one for Thanksgiving travel."
"That was logistics."
"You titled it 'Parental Visit Coordination.'"
I close my eyes. "That was a mistake."
"It was very you."
Her voice does what it always does: enters the room and rearranges the furniture without moving anything. Soo-jin Wren has never needed volume to establish authority. She was a librarian for thirty years. She can silence a room with one inhale.
"Did something happen?" she asks.
"My lease is up in February."
There is a pause.
"That is what happened?"
"I need to decide whether to renew."
"At eleven o'clock at night, you called me about lease renewal."
"It's a real decision."
"It is a decision. It is not the decision you called about."
I look at the wall. The mark from Nolan's shoulder is barely visible. I will clean it tomorrow. I will probably not clean it tomorrow.
"The kitchen is small," I say.
"I told you this already."
"You tell me many things already."
"Because you require repetition."
"Do I?"
"You are my son."
This is Soo-jin's way of saying she has peer-reviewed me.
I get up and walk to the kitchen because sitting on the bed feels like continuing a conversation Nolan has left. The clementines are back in order. My keys are not. One key hasslipped off the ring slightly, the spare mail key I keep meaning to remove. I fix it while my mother waits.
"The apartment is close to the arena," I say. "The commute is good. The building is quiet. Parking is included."
