The dresser and end tables are gone, and so are the flower paintings. The bedspread is now plain white, and so are the walls. Everything’s been stripped away. It never felt like mine to begin with, but it still hurts. Why would she change it so quickly? Had all her smiles since I’d gotten home been fake? Had she really written me off that fast?

Deb clears her throat behind me, and I jump, but I don’t turn around because I don’t want her to see the look on my face.

I focus on Roman’s fingers supporting every one of mine.

“It’s not what you think. I wanted you to feel comfortable making it yours when you got home.”

I take a deep, shaky breath and look again at all the emptiness and see it for what it really is. A blank canvas. Something to be mine from this point on. Sometimes painting over walls means staying, not leaving.

“I want this to be your home, Ava.”

My name is not a question this time. It almost feels like a command. Like this is my home whether I want it to be or not.

“I want to do whatever I can to make you feel comfortable here.”

“I want to paint the front door,” I blurt as I finally turn to face her.

Deb looks surprised, but she doesn’t hesitate. “Sure. What color were you thinking?”

I’m tempted to say black just to test her, but I don’t feel like she needs any more tests. I shrug. “Turquoise, maybe.”

“That’d be nice.” She smiles. “We can look at paint tomorrow. Now let’s go before those animals downstairs scarf all the pizza up.”

We all spend the evening together watching The NeverEnding Story, which, to the amazement of everyone, Roman has never seen. We all stare at him when Artax dies, and he wipes his eyes just once, but it’s enough for Parker to make fun of him as if he’s never cried watching it. But for most of the movie, Roman’s smiling, not at the movie, though—at me. When the movie ends, Deb asks him if she should make up the couch, but he declines, and I walk him to the door.

I fold my hand into his again as he steps outside, holding him with me just a moment longer. “Where are you going to stay?”

He leans in and hesitates with his lips just over mine. “I’ll be back in the morning,” he says softly, and then he kisses me while our fingers are still intertwined, and it’s brief and firm—the kind of kiss that says it’s okay to part for a moment because there will be many other times together. So when he pulls away, I let go of him, and I don’t watch him leave.

I go back inside with my family.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS