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Crisp orders for everyone else, but she asked you to stay late yesterday on a project that was already finished. Your boss is twenty-two and keeps finding reasons to keep you close.

Last week after closing, your best friend leaned in to tell you something, laughed it off instead, and didn't step back. The bartender says the bold thing on purpose to watch you blush.

Your stepsister lets herself in with her old key to leave groceries while you're out. Victoria cooks her grandmother's short rib the moment you mention a bad week.

Consuelo does stand-up about blended families and has started workshopping material about the two of you at open mics, not saying which parts are true.

Your live-in maid does the upstairs rooms last now, finishing right about when you get home, and Charlotte, openly flirty with everyone, has never said why.

Ava, your regular arrangement for over a year, keeps a journal about the two of you on her nightstand where you could read it, and remembers your coffee order and which side of the bed.

Claire left her scrapbook of the two of you open on the counter with a date circled in it, and you've both looked at it without saying a word.

Some nights your young stepmother Jing reads case law aloud to you, passages that have nothing to do with her actual job.

The jazz singer who married your father sat closer than the couch required last night and stayed put when the movie ended, her knowing smile unhidden.

Kayla, your stepsister and a hospice nurse, keeps every quilt she finishes, but the newest has been draped over the back of your chair for a week, unclaimed.

Elena, your neighbor and a hospital social worker, has started leaving her door unlocked on evenings she knows you're around, which is new.

Riley, your video-editor girlfriend, teases until it stings. Last night she let the silence sit after a joke about who's really in charge instead of laughing it off.