Page 237 of Override

"I do. You pick what feels like Keaton."

"What if I don't know what that is?"

Rachel doesn't hesitate. "Oh, honey..."

"You already do."

****

Rachel digs her spoon back into the carton of mint chocolate chip before handing it toward me.

"I still think the lamp should've gone on the other side."

I laugh, taking another bite of my own bowl. "You said that before we moved it."

"I know."

"And after we moved it."

"I also know."

"And when we moved it back."

Rachel points her spoon at me. "I've accepted defeat. That doesn't mean I have to like it."

I smile as I look around the room. It doesn't even feel like the same space anymore.

The heavy, dark comforter had been replaced with soft gray linens and a thick knit blanket folded neatly across the foot of the bed. The old dresser was gone, replaced by something lighter that actually matched the hardwood floors Keaton had loved enough to rent the apartment in the first place. We'd found two nightstands that weren't identical—Rachel insisted matching furniture made rooms look like hotel suites—and she'd talked me into a reading chair tucked beside the window.

There was still plenty of open space. It still felt like Keaton. Just...warmer. Like someone actually lived here.

I trace the edge of my bowl with my spoon. "What if he hates it?"

Rachel looks at me like I've asked whether the sky is green. "He won't."

"You don't know that."

"I know Keaton."

"He likes everything organized."

"It is organized."

"He likes things practical."

Rachel gestures around the room. "The bed functions. The dresser functions. The lamp functions."

I can't help smiling. "You're making fun of him."

"I'm making fun of you." She reaches over and nudges my knee with hers. "Maeve... this isn't about furniture."

I look back around the room. No. It isn't. "I just..." The words catch somewhere in my throat. "He told me the room stopped functioning."

Rachel's smile softens. "I know."

"What if he walks in here and it still doesn’t function?" The room falls quiet. I stare down at the melting ice cream in my lap. "I just wanted him to have somewhere he'd want to sleep again." My voice is barely above a whisper.

Rachel reaches over and squeezes my hand. "I think that's exactly what you've given him."