“I have a deep and abiding attachment to my house,” I tell her honestly. “I’ll never move out of it.”

“You’ve lived in that house for practically your whole life. You must have so many good memories in it.” She pours us both generous glasses and settles into her chair, putting up her feet on the table between us. “Some bad ones, too.”

I sip carefully. “Sure. A few. You can’t get through life without a few bad memories here and there.”

“Maybe that’s why I get rid of everything every few years and start from scratch. Can’t hold on to bad memories if you don’t have any reminders, right?” Lisa lifts her glass toward mine to clink them together. She takes another drink. “Oooh. Yummy.”

The idea of getting rid of everything gives me a cold sweat. “You have a real knack for it. Have you ever thought about doing it for other people?”

“What, like staging houses to go on the market? Or decorating them?”

“Both. Either.” I take in the rest of the room, noticing more cool details I envy because they’re all clearly there to make Lisa happy.

“You really think I’d be good at it?”

“You are good at it, Lisa. From what I see here, I think you’re really good at it.”

“Hmm.” She looks around the living room, her head tilted. “You know, there are services that will rent décor and furniture to people who are selling, to make the house look fresh but not too personal. I bet there’s good money in that. You probably have to have some kind of storage space, though, for your inventory. And you’d have to market yourself. Work with realtors. Sounds like a lot of work.”

“Fun work. Maybe even a dream job.”

“My dream job is not having to work,” she says with an acerbic laugh. “I’m living it.”

I study the yellowy gold liquid shimmering in my glass. “Me too. It’s not that great.”

“So what’s your dream job?” She refills her glass.

“Buying stuff and reselling it,” I tell her honestly and also self-consciously. “You’re the first person I have ever admitted that to.”

Lisa beams. “Why don’t you do it, then?”

There’s so much to this story, where do I begin?

“My son. It’s always been important to me that I’m there for him. After what happened, I wanted to make sure Eli felt safe. I wanted him to know I would always protect him. And Ken wanted me to stay home, take care of the house. He’s old-fashioned like that.”

It’s only a tiny piece of the truth, but it’s a start.

“Eli won’t need you forever.”

I feign shock, a hand over my chest, my head turned, but I’m laughing. “Bite your tongue. A boy will always need his mother.”

“Sure, if he’s Norman Bates.” She laughs too.

“He struggled, you know? He still struggles.” My laughter fades. “I’ll do whatever I have to so he can be okay. Sacrifice … whatever.”