By the time I’ve got everything moved around, my linens on the bed and my own clothes in the dresser, stacks of my to-be-read books lined up under the window, the room is barely recognizable as the one where Pops has lived for so many years.

A lump rises in my throat. This is my room now. I’m not living out of a suitcase anymore. I’m not sleeping on the couch anymore. I’m officially moving in, I guess. Because Pops is not going to move back in. This is my apartment because it’s not his anymore. This is my job because it’s not his anymore.

I pull out my phone. It’s the middle of the night, so I know he won’t answer, but that’s okay. I leave Pops a voicemail anyhow.

“Hey, Pops. Just thinking about ya. I hope you’re sleeping right now. Just finished moving my stuff into your room. I know, I know, I should have done it a long time ago. I guess I just wanted to let you know that . . . I like it here. Doing this job. Living here. You don’t have to worry that I don’t like it. It fits me . . . Okay, well. Talk to you tomorrow. Sleep tight.”

I hang up the phone. For the first time since I moved down here to take everything over, I want it. I want it all. I want this apartment. I want this job. I want to be here in this neighborhood, taking over for Pops, boxing with Raoul, occasionally, hopefully seeing Eliot every once in a while.

I fall face-first into the bed and sleep for a few hours. When I wake up, it’s past dawn, and I immediately check my phone. But of course, there’s nothing from Eliot. He’s not going to push me. He’s not going to invade my privacy. I almost wish that he would. If he was just a little bit of an asshole, then I might be able to see him and interact with him without having to make the tough decision to do it myself.

“Just bully me a little bit,” I say to my phone, pretending it’s Eliot’s face. “Just force me to hang out with you. I miss you, you sensitive, caring jerk.”

I jump when my phone rings in my hand. I know immediately who it is. I’m a night owl. He’s an early bird. There’s only one person on earth who would call me with no reservations at six in the morning.

“Morning, Pops.”

“You headed to the gym?”

“Not this morning.”

“You were up late last night.”

“Yeah.”

He pauses for a moment. “What’s with the sad little voicemail you left me?”

“It wasn’t sad! It was . . . triumphant. Or, it was supposed to be at least. I finally moved you out and took over your room.”