“So now Olga comes,” I said with a shrug. “But little things like the lint trap . . . we forget about them, I guess. Everyone has been sort of . . . distracted this year. Olga doesn’t do lint traps. Or cat boxes. I hate cleaning the cat box.”

“Sure. Who doesn’t?” said Jasper as she settled back down onto the couch and snuggled under the blanket. “But cats are nice. I haven’t seen yours!”

“He comes and he goes,” I said.

I turned the movie back on, and we watched some more, until the dryer buzzed. Then Jasper got up, and I heard her futzing around in the office. She came back in, holding a basket full of laundry to fold. She was wearing shorts and a Star Wars T-shirt with Princess Leia on it.

“Much better,” I said.

“You’re telling me,” said Jasper. “Hey, while I’m hanging out here anyway, I want to wash my stupid nightshirt, if that’s cool. Do you have any laundry to run with it?”

“Sure,” I said. “I think so. . . .” I paused the movie again and stood up, yawning.

Jasper followed me to my room, where I scrounged dirty leggings, shorts, and a sundress from the floor and dresser top. “Here, this should make a load,” I said. I reached out and took her pink shirt from her, then headed for the office.

I’d just assumed Jasper was following along behind me down the hall, but as I neared the office door I heard her say, “Hey, mind if I use the facilities?”

“Of course not,” I called back, over my shoulder, but when I turned, I realized that Jasper didn’t actually know where the bathroom was. “No, wait!” I called out, as she reached out for the knob of a closed door.

But it was already too late. Jasper swung the door wide, and it creaked on its hinges. Like a door nobody had opened in a long time. Like a door that had been sealed up tight for a year.

“Uh,” she said, peering in.

“Wrong room,” I said. What else could I say?

“Oh,” said Jasper. And then she whispered, “Oh, Leah . . .”

She said it like she already knew. Everything. I joined her, backtracked the few short feet to stand beside her. Clutching my armload of laundry, I stared into the room. For the first time in a long time. For the first time in a year.

It was dark. All the lights were off, and the curtains were closed. Even so, you could make out the layer of dust on everything. Dust and shadows, floating in the air. The room was a memory.

“Olga doesn’t clean this room,” I said. “Nobody cleans this room.”

“I get it,” said Jasper somberly.