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“What if,” I whispered almost to myself, “inviting Art and the kids to stay here is what I think he wants, and not really what I want?” Swallowing convulsively to keep my coffee down, I shot my grandmother a wild-eyed look. “How am I supposed to know? How am I supposed to trust a gut that’s misled me so often?”

Did it mislead you? Or did you ignore it? she replied, looking a little smug.

I opened my mouth to reply and snapped it shut, not as sure of the answer as I’d been a moment earlier. “I don’t know.”

It’s like a muscle. The more you tune in to your gut, the easier it gets to hear it.

“That doesn’t help nearly as much as you think,” I grumbled. I didn’t have long before Art and the kids arrived, and if I really didn’t want them here, I’d better be ready to turn them away.

Everything inside me rebelled at the thought. My chest tightened, my legs shook, my palms got cold and clammy, and a wave of such intense grief washed over me that all I could do for a moment was force myself to slowly breathe in and out until it no longer felt like I might die.

That clear enough for you? Grandma drawled. She smirked at me around her cigarette holder before sucking in a deep breath. I rolled my eyes at her as she sent smoke rings drifting my way. Coughing, I batted them away and glared at her.

“Okay, so I guess I’m pretty sure I want them here, but…” I scrunched up my face.

Buuuuuutttttt… Grandma drew out the word as long as she could make it.

I sighed. “I’m scared.”

Oooooooooof…?

Sitting down heavily in the nearest kitchen chair, I dropped my head into my hands. When I looked up, my grandmother was splayed across the table, lying on her back, blowing smoke rings at the ceiling to make them dance in the dusky light of the setting sun streaming in through the open floor plan’s only window.

I jerked back in surprise, making her turn her head slowly in my direction to shoot me an amused look. So?

“I don’t know, but it feels like the walls are closing in on me.”

Could it have a little something to do with spending two decades filling yourself up with someone else’s wants and desires? she asked, fixing me with her steely gaze. You’ve barely had a hot minute to explore what lights you up. And now a whole family’s moving in. In your shoes, which I’d never be caught dead wearing, she said, cackling as she glanced at my sneakers, I might be a little scared that their needs and wants might take up all that lovely empty space inside me and make me lose sight of myself all over again.

She chuckled when my jaw dropped.

Am I close?

“Maybe.” For the better part of a year, I’d been watching the shows I wanted, playing music at whatever volume appealed to me, and only eating when my stomach told me I was hungry rather than on someone else’s arbitrary schedule. I’d gone to bed and gotten up whenever I pleased and relished never having anyone make snide comments about how I was wasting daylight or staying up too late. I’d traveled where I wanted and when I wanted, and when I’d come across my dream shop, I hadn’t had to consult anyone to drop every dime I owned into making it mine.

Welcoming three other people into my life would put an end to all of that. I’d spent a year painstakingly relearning how to take up all the space that was mine. I was terrified of having to shrink myself back down to make room for them.

An hour into my first night in my new Banhaven home, I regretted not insisting that Art and the kids move in immediately.

The dark amplified tenfold the small sounds I’d heard on and off all day. My heart sped up further with every creak and rustle of the house settling or small animals scurrying in the walls.

Then I became convinced that a small gray cat had snuck into the building to curl up at the end of my bed. Despite turning on the lights multiple times to confirm that I was the only being in the room, I couldn’t seem to shake the strange sensation.

Long before dawn, any concern about having to give up some of my hard-earned personal space had been eclipsed by the relief of knowing that I wouldn’t have to spend another night alone in my new home.

THIRTEEN

The apartment door crashed open, and Art’s voice echoed from the bottom of the stairs.

“Merry! Chill out, buddy. You’re going to give Meg a heart attack!”

The little boy who tumbled into the room looked like a blond child-version of Art, minus the beard, of course. His golden hair glinted as he caught his foot on the edge of the rug and pinwheeled his arms to stay upright, almost dislodging his little turtle-shaped backpack. Delighting in the movement, he kept spinning his arms as he raced around the room, making loud engine noises as he careened around what little furniture had come with the place. When spinning his arms lost its appeal, he held them out to the side and increased his speed and his volume.

Torn between worrying about potential bodily harm and the safety of the things in his way, I kept my eyes glued on him as he ran around, flinching every time he narrowly missed a turn or stumbled into something.

He was eyeing the couch with a calculating look on his face when his father entered the room, one large duffel under each arm and a third slung across his back.

“Don’t even think about it, buddy,” Art warned in a matter-of-fact tone without even looking over.