Room For More

Chapter 1

The Monster Movie

By the time Adam Tobias clocked out, he had already answered the same question four different ways.

“No, the shipment isn’t late.”

“Yes, I know the system says it should have arrived.”

“No, I cannot make the truck appear by staring at the loading dock.”

And, finally:

“If it gets here before seven tomorrow morning, we’re still fine.”

That answer seemed to satisfy everyone except Adam.

He stood just outside the supervisor’s office at the distribution center, rubbing at the back of his neck while forklifts beeped somewhere beyond the yellow safety rails. Most of the second shift had already settled into its rhythm. Pallets moved. Radios crackled. Someone farther down the warehouse laughed loudly enough that it echoed through half the building.

Adam glanced once more at the tablet in his hand.

Everything that needed his signature had it.

Everything that needed to be handed off had been handed off.

Everything else could survive until morning.

He locked the screen.

“Going home?” one of the leads called.

“That’s usually what happens after work.”

“You say that, but you were still here forty minutes late Tuesday.”

“Tuesday was different.”

“It’s always different.”

Adam pointed at him. “And yet somehow I keep getting paid.”

“Barely.”

Adam laughed and headed toward the employee exit.

He had worked there for ten years.

That realization hit him every once in a while with more force than it probably should have. He had started at twenty-five thinking it would be temporary. Something steady. Something with decent benefits until he figured out what came next.

Apparently what came next was a decade.

Not that he hated it.

He had climbed quickly, learned the operation from the floor up, moved into management, and now held one of the supervisor positions most people either wanted desperately or avoided at all costs. Depending on the day, Adam understood both reactions.

The general manager position might open within the next year.

Maybe sooner.

He had been careful not to obsess over it.

At least not openly.

His phone buzzed as he crossed the parking lot.

Torrie: Polly says she is never going home.

Adam smiled before opening the rest of the message.

Torrie: Roxy says she will absolutely be going home because Polly stole her blanket twice.

A second message followed immediately.

Torrie: I told them their father abandoned them forever.

Adam typed while walking.

Adam: Good. I’ve been trying to break the news gently.

Three dots appeared.

Torrie: Monster.

Adam: Speaking of monsters, I need Walmart. Tell them I’ll be there in an hour.

Torrie: Take your time. Eric made popcorn.

Adam stopped beside his SUV.

Adam: That sounds threatening.

Torrie: It was microwave popcorn.

Adam: Even worse.

He put the phone away and climbed in.

Eric and Torrie having the girls made errands significantly easier.

Not that Adam minded bringing Roxy and Polly with him most of the time, but taking two children into Walmart for four things had an irritating tendency to result in twenty-three things, at least two arguments, and somebody suddenly needing a bathroom despite claiming five minutes earlier that they absolutely did not.

Tonight, though, he was alone.

Uncle Eric and Aunt Torrie had volunteered the second Adam mentioned needing to stop after work.

They volunteered often.

Eric had been part of Adam’s life for so long that Adam genuinely couldn’t remember meeting him. Their mothers had pictures of them together as little kids, both filthy, both missing teeth, both apparently convinced shirts were optional.

Torrie came into the group not long after.

She had known Rachel almost as long as Adam had.

That mattered.

Especially now.

Eric and Torrie had married a little over a year earlier, though almost no one who knew them thought marriage had changed much. They had been inseparable for years before that. Torrie was thirty-one, adored Roxy and Polly, and had already informed Adam more than once that when she and Eric eventually started trying for children, she expected him to repay approximately a decade of babysitting favors.

Adam had told her he would keep receipts.

His mother was the other person he trusted without a second thought.

Between the three of them, Adam had more help than he liked admitting he needed.

He started the SUV and pulled away from the warehouse.

His Walmart list was painfully ordinary.

Laundry detergent.

Milk.

Cereal.

Toothpaste.

That was it.

He repeated the four items once in his head at the first traffic light as if preparing for an exam.

“Detergent. Milk. Cereal. Toothpaste.”

He nodded to himself.

Simple.

Twenty minutes later, Adam walked through the automatic doors and immediately forgot the toothpaste.

---

He found the detergent first.

Then remembered they needed paper towels.

Then remembered Polly had nearly finished the strawberry syrup.

Then decided they didn’t need strawberry syrup.

Then imagined Polly’s face Saturday morning when she discovered there was no strawberry syrup.

He put strawberry syrup in the cart.

This was how Walmart won.

Adam pushed toward groceries, stopped halfway there, and glanced toward electronics.

He didn’t need anything from electronics.

That was exactly why he turned toward electronics.

Five minutes, he told himself.

Maybe ten.

He had always liked browsing movies.

Streaming had made the habit increasingly pointless, but there was something about picking up a case and reading the back that he still enjoyed. Rachel used to tease him about it.

He would spend fifteen minutes deciding whether to buy a movie they could stream at home for less money.

Then buy it anyway.

Adam slowed as he reached the movie section.

Rows of familiar titles stared back at him beneath harsh fluorescent lights.

He picked up one case.

Put it back.

Picked up another.

Terrible remake.

He shook his head.

Then something two displays over caught his attention.

Not the movie at first.

The woman holding it.

She stood with one shoulder angled toward him, studying the cover as though she was genuinely deciding whether to buy it. Blonde hair fell just past her shoulders. She wore jeans, sneakers, and a dark jacket over what looked like a simple top.

Adam might have noticed her and kept walking.

Probably would have.

Then he saw the movie in her hand.

He stopped.

No way.

A grin pulled at his mouth before he could stop it.

“Oh, that is an absolute classic. You definitely have good taste.”

The woman looked up.

For half a second she seemed surprised that a stranger had spoken to her.

Then she smiled.

“Thank you so much. This one is probably one of my favorites.”

Adam raised his eyebrows.

“Really?”

Her smile changed.

“You sound shocked.”

“I don’t know many women that like a good monster movie. I know some that like horror and jump scares. That’s not my thing.”

“Not my thing either.”

“Yeah, that one in your hand is my favorite. The sequel is good. The third movie is crap.”

Her eyes widened.

“Oh, absolutely agree.”

Adam pointed at the case.

“Thank you. Finally.”

She laughed.

“What?”

“You have no idea how many people defend that third movie.”

“Those people are wrong.”

“Completely.”

“It doesn’t even feel like the same series.”

“Exactly.”

“And the creature design?”

Adam made a face.

“Don’t.”

“It’s terrible.”

“Embarrassing.”

She laughed again.

Adam found himself laughing with her.

“Well, now I feel obligated to buy it,” she said.

“You weren’t already?”

“I was debating.”

“There was nothing to debate.”

“That confident?”

“That confident.”

She turned the case over in her hands.

“I haven’t watched it in probably three years.”

“Then this is basically a public service.”

“Do you work for Walmart?”

“No.”

“A movie studio?”

“No.”

“Then your commission check probably isn’t coming.”

Adam put a hand over his chest.

“That hurts.”

She smiled.

There was a pause.

Not an uncomfortable one.

Just the natural point where two strangers usually acknowledged the conversation had run its course.

Adam looked at the shelf beside her and picked up another movie.

“See, now this one,” he said, “is a terrible movie that I’ll defend forever.”

She leaned closer to see the cover.

“No.”

Adam looked at her.

“You don’t like it?”

“I refuse to believe you like it.”

“I didn’t say it was good.”

“That makes it worse.”

“It knows exactly what it is.”

“That is what people say when they know a movie is bad.”

“It is bad.”

She laughed.

“Then why are you holding it?”

“Because I might buy it.”

“You came over here criticizing other people’s taste.”

“I complimented yours.”

“Before exposing your own.”

Adam looked down at the movie in his hand.

“You know what? Fair.”

She laughed again.

Adam should have put the movie back.

He should have wished her a good night and gone to buy milk.

Instead he found another title.

“What about this one?”

She tilted her head.

“Original or remake?”

“Original.”

“Obviously.”

Adam nodded.

“Good answer.”

“Were you testing me?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s rude.”

“You passed.”

“I didn’t know I was taking an exam.”

“You’re doing very well.”

She smiled.

“Good. I’ve always been an overachiever.”

That made him laugh.

She tucked the creature feature beneath her arm and started moving slowly down the aisle.

Adam followed without really deciding to.

They talked about movies for another ten minutes.

Maybe fifteen.

It started with monsters.

Then science fiction.

Then horror.

Then the difference between suspense and movies that simply threw something loud at the screen every six minutes.

“You know what I hate?” she asked.

“What?”

“When a movie gets quiet just because it wants you to know something is about to jump out.”

Adam nodded immediately.

“Exactly.”

“They basically warn you.”

“Music stops.”

“Camera gets slow.”

“Some idiot walks toward a closet.”

“Don’t open the closet.”

“They always open the closet.”

“They deserve what happens.”

She laughed.

“You’re harsh.”

“I’m realistic.”

“Remind me never to ask you to investigate a strange sound in my house.”

“I’ll call the police.”

“Wow.”

“Professionals exist for a reason.”

She shook her head.

Adam put one movie back and picked up another.

“What’s your favorite non-monster movie?”

She considered it.

“That’s too broad.”

“Coward.”

“Fine. Comedy?”

“Sure.”

She answered.

He disagreed.

She defended herself.

They debated for another five minutes.

Then she glanced down at the basket hanging from her arm.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“I actually came here to shop.”

Adam looked at his cart.

“Apparently so did I.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“I forgot.”

“Impressive.”

“I’m very focused.”

“So focused you forgot why you came to Walmart?”

“I remember why I came.”

“What do you need?”

Adam looked into the cart.

“Detergent. Paper towels. Strawberry syrup.”

She waited.

“That’s it?”

“No.”

“What else?”

He stared at the cart.

She laughed.

“You forgot.”

“Temporarily.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Milk.”

“Okay.”

“Cereal.”

She nodded.

“And toothpaste.”

He pointed at her.

“Yes. Toothpaste.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Thank you.”

She began walking.

“Come on.”

Adam blinked.

“Where?”

“Toothpaste.”

“You’re helping me shop now?”

“You clearly need supervision.”

Adam pushed the cart after her.

“I’m thirty-five years old.”

“Congratulations.”

“I have successfully purchased toothpaste before.”

“Today isn’t looking promising.”

He laughed.

And just like that, they left the movie aisle together.

---

Her name was Madison.

Adam learned that somewhere between toothpaste and shampoo.

“Madison,” she said.

“Adam.”

“Adam what?”

“Tobias.”

She nodded.

“Adam Tobias.”

“And you?”

“Zebisher.”

“Madison Zebisher.”

“You say that like you’re testing how it sounds.”

“I was making sure I heard you right.”

“You did.”

They turned into another aisle.

“So, Madison Zebisher, what do you do when you’re not judging strangers’ movie choices?”

She glanced at him.

“You started that.”

“I complimented you.”

“Then immediately interrogated me.”

“That feels dramatic.”

“I’m a teacher.”

Adam looked at her.

“Really?”

“There you go again.”

“What?”

“You keep sounding surprised.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“You are.”

“What do you teach?”

“Fourth grade.”

Adam stared at her for a second.

“On purpose?”

Madison laughed.

“Yes. On purpose.”

“Every day?”

“Monday through Friday.”

“With multiple children?”

“Usually.”

“That sounds terrifying.”

“It’s really not.”

“How many?”

“Twenty-four this year.”

Adam slowly shook his head.

“You willingly walk into a room with twenty-four nine- and ten-year-olds every morning.”

“I do.”

“And people call me brave.”

She looked over.

“What do you do?”

“Distribution center.”

“What kind?”

“Consumer products. Household goods, seasonal stuff, some retail supply.”

“You drive a forklift?”

“Not anymore.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I’m a supervisor.”

“Oh.”

“That sounded judgmental.”

“No, it didn’t.”

“It did.”

Madison smiled.

“I’m picturing you standing on a catwalk yelling at people.”

“There is no catwalk.”

“Megaphone?”

“No.”

“Whistle?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Clipboard?”

“Tablet.”

“Of course.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you looked like a tablet guy.”

Adam stopped the cart.

“I don’t know if that was an insult.”

“I don’t either.”

They laughed.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had spent this long talking to a stranger.

Certainly not like this.

There had been conversations at work.

Parents at school events.

Neighbors.

People in checkout lines.

But this was different.

There was no effort.

No searching for topics.

No awkward pause followed by someone checking a phone.

They simply kept finding something else.

Madison told him she had always wanted to teach, although somewhere around her junior year of college she briefly convinced herself she should choose something that paid better.

“What stopped you?” Adam asked.

“I realized I’d probably hate it.”

“Strong reason.”

“I thought so.”

“So you picked the career you wanted.”

“Yep.”

“And now?”

“Now I complain about the pay.”

“Healthy.”

“Very.”

He grinned.

She asked how long he had worked at the distribution center.

“Ten years.”

Madison stopped walking.

“Ten?”

“Yeah.”

“So you started at twenty-five.”

Adam nodded.

“Pretty much.”

“And never left.”

“Apparently they trapped me.”

“You’re doing very poorly at escaping.”

“I’m hoping for general manager eventually.”

“That sounds less trapped.”

“Depends who you ask.”

“You want it?”

Adam thought for a second.

“Yeah.”

“Then that counts.”

They kept walking.

At some point they reached groceries.

Adam put milk into the cart.

Madison picked up coffee.

He judged her choice.

She judged his.

They debated cereal.

Madison claimed one brand was objectively superior.

Adam told her she was wrong.

She told him being thirty-five did not automatically make him wise.

That was when he learned she was twenty-five.

“Wait,” Adam said. “You’re twenty-five?”

Madison narrowed her eyes.

“Do not say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I just told you I’m twelve.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did with your face.”

“I’m trying to figure out if I would have guessed that.”

“And?”

“Probably.”

“Good answer.”

“It was honest.”

“How old did you think I was?”

“Twenty-four. Twenty-five. Twenty-six.”

“So basically exactly my age.”

“Exactly.”

“And yet you sounded surprised.”

“You keep accusing me of that.”

“Because you keep doing it.”

Adam laughed.

She grabbed something from the shelf and put it into her basket.

“What about you? Thirty-five?”

“Yep.”

Madison nodded.

“That sounds right.”

“What does that mean?”

“You look thirty-five.”

“Is that bad?”

“No.”

“Good?”

“It means you look your age, Adam.”

He put a hand against his chest.

“Brutal.”

“You’ll recover.”

They kept going.

At some point Adam realized the cart had stopped mattering.

He had everything on his list.

Madison probably did too.

Neither mentioned leaving.

They wandered.

Home goods.

Seasonal.

Back toward electronics.

Madison told him about a student who had recently written an entire paragraph arguing that recess should legally be two hours long.

Adam said the kid had leadership potential.

She told him about another who had decided multiplication was “an unnecessary complication.”

Adam liked that kid too.

He told her stories about people at work trying to explain damaged pallets as though gravity itself had become personally vindictive.

She laughed hard enough at one of them that she had to stop walking.

Adam noticed that.

Not her stopping.

How good it felt to make someone laugh.

It caught him unexpectedly.

For just a second, something inside him tightened.

He ignored it.

Madison was still smiling.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“You looked weird.”

“Thank you.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I was just thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

Adam gave her a look.

Madison grinned.

“Sorry. Too easy.”

He shook his head.

They moved again.

Minutes passed.

Then more.

Adam forgot about the shipment at work.

Forgot about the possibility of the GM position.

Forgot that Polly would probably argue bedtime when he picked her up.

Forgot, briefly, the careful structure that made up most of his life.

For an hour, he was simply Adam.

Talking to Madison.

And he liked her.

That realization came quietly.

Not dramatically.

He liked talking to her.

He liked her laugh.

He liked that she knew monster movies better than most people he knew.

He liked the way she challenged almost everything he said without making the conversation feel combative.

He liked that she seemed genuinely interested when he spoke.

It had been a long time since he had thought about a woman that way.

A very long time.

Madison suddenly pulled out her phone.

“Oh my God.”

Adam looked at her.

“What?”

“Do you know what time it is?”

He checked his own.

His eyebrows rose.

“No.”

“We’ve been talking for over an hour.”

Adam looked around as if Walmart itself might explain what had happened.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“That doesn’t feel possible.”

“I know.”

Madison laughed softly.

They had somehow ended up near the front of the store.

Her basket was full.

His cart was definitely fuller than necessary.

Adam looked toward the checkout lanes.

“I should probably get going.”

“Me too.”

Neither moved for a second.

Adam smiled.

“Well…”

“Well,” Madison repeated.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

“Thank you.”

Her expression changed slightly.

“For what?”

“The conversation.”

Madison smiled.

“I enjoyed it.”

“So did I.”

“A lot, actually.”

Adam nodded.

“Yeah.”

There it was.

The end.

Adam knew how these things worked.

Two strangers met.

Talked.

Had a weirdly good hour.

Then went back to their lives.

He gave her a small smile.

“Have a good night, Madison.”

“You too.”

Adam turned his cart slightly.

“Adam?”

He looked back.

Madison stood there with one hand wrapped around the basket handle.

She seemed suddenly less confident than she had been at any point in the last hour.

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask me for my number.”

Adam stared at her.

For one long second, he genuinely wasn’t sure he heard her correctly.

“I’m sorry?”

Madison laughed, a little embarrassed now.

“Wow. Okay. Apparently that sounded smoother in my head.”

“No. I heard you.”

“That somehow makes this worse.”

Adam smiled.

“I just…”

She waited.

“You actually want me to?”

Madison looked at him like the question itself was strange.

“I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”

He laughed softly.

“I guess I didn’t think…”

“Think what?”

Adam had no good answer.

He hadn’t thought about asking.

Not because he didn’t want her number.

Because that part of his brain apparently no longer worked automatically.

Madison shifted the basket to her other hand.

“I don’t normally do this.”

“Approach helpless men in Walmart?”

“You’re really holding onto the helpless thing.”

“You escorted me to toothpaste.”

“You needed help.”

“I remembered eventually.”

“No, I remembered for you.”

Adam grinned.

Madison smiled back.

Then her voice softened.

“I just think we could have some really good conversations.”

Something about that landed harder than flirting would have.

Adam looked at her.

“I’d like that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Madison pulled out her phone.

They exchanged numbers.

Adam watched her type his name.

Adam Tobias.

He entered hers.

Madison Zebisher.

When they finished, Madison slipped her phone back into her pocket.

“There.”

“There.”

“So now you have no excuse.”

“For what?”

“Not continuing the conversation.”

Adam smiled.

“I guess not.”

They walked toward the registers together.

After checking out, they continued through the doors into the parking lot.

The evening air felt cooler than Adam expected.

Their vehicles were in opposite directions.

Of course they were.

Madison stopped.

“I’m over there.”

Adam nodded toward the other side.

“I’m that way.”

Another pause.

Madison smiled.

“Well…goodnight, Adam.”

“Goodnight.”

She stepped forward and hugged him.

Adam froze for the smallest fraction of a second before wrapping an arm around her.

It was brief.

Simple.

When she pulled back, Adam leaned instinctively and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

He realized what he had done almost as quickly as he did it.

Madison blinked.

Adam opened his mouth.

She smiled.

“Goodnight.”

Then she turned and walked away.

Adam stood there.

Cart in front of him.

Walmart bags hanging from both sides.

Watching her disappear between parked cars.

“What the hell just happened?”

He said it quietly to himself.

Then he laughed.

---

Eric opened the front door before Adam knocked.

“You’re late.”

Adam looked at him.

“You’re not my father.”

“No, but if I was, I’d be disappointed.”

“You already are.”

“Constantly.”

Adam stepped inside.

Polly came running from the living room.

“Dad!”

Adam barely had time to brace before she hit him around the waist.

“Hey, bug.”

“You took forever.”

“I had shopping.”

“For three hours?”

“It was not three hours.”

Roxy appeared behind her.

At ten, she had already perfected the look of someone who expected adults to explain themselves properly.

“You said an hour.”

Adam glanced at Eric.

Eric raised both hands.

“Don’t look at me.”

Torrie came from the kitchen holding a bowl.

“You said an hour.”

Adam sighed.

“I got distracted.”

Polly looked toward the bags.

“Did you get strawberry syrup?”

Adam pointed at her.

“Yes.”

She celebrated as though he had returned from war.

Torrie laughed.

“I told you he would.”

Adam looked at her.

“You are the reason she thinks this behavior is acceptable.”

Torrie hugged him.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

She was still wearing the sweatshirt Polly had apparently decorated with popcorn crumbs.

Roxy folded her arms.

“What distracted you?”

Adam looked at his daughter.

“Shopping.”

Roxy narrowed her eyes.

Eric turned away, suspiciously amused.

Adam sighed.

“I got talking to someone.”

Roxy’s eyebrows rose.

“For an hour?”

Adam stared at her.

Torrie made a choking sound that was definitely an attempt not to laugh.

“Apparently.”

Roxy continued studying him.

“Who?”

“A person.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It absolutely is.”

“Was it a worker?”

“No.”

“Did you know them?”

“No.”

Roxy looked even more confused.

“You talked to a stranger for an hour?”

“When you say it like that, it sounds weird.”

“It is weird.”

Adam pointed at her.

“Go get your shoes.”

Roxy smiled faintly.

“That means I’m right.”

“You’re ten.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

Eric clapped a hand onto Adam’s shoulder.

“She has you there.”

“Everyone in this house is against me.”

Polly grabbed his hand.

“I’m not.”

“Thank you.”

“Because you got syrup.”

Adam looked down at her.

“Conditional love. Good.”

Torrie laughed.

It felt good being there.

It always did.

There were pictures of Eric and Torrie everywhere. Their wedding. Vacations. Family. One photo on a shelf near the living room showed the entire group years earlier.

Adam.

Rachel.

Eric.

Torrie.

Roxy as a toddler.

Polly wasn’t born yet.

Adam’s eyes moved over it automatically.

Rachel was laughing in the picture.

Not looking at the camera.

Looking at him.

The warmth from Walmart shifted.

Not disappeared.

Just changed.

Four years.

It had been four years.

Sometimes that felt impossible.

Sometimes it felt like twenty.

“Dad?”

Adam looked down.

Roxy stood beside him now with her backpack.

“You okay?”

He smiled.

“Yeah.”

She watched him for another second, then nodded.

“Okay.”

Torrie noticed the picture too.

She didn’t say anything.

She never did unless Adam brought Rachel up first.

He appreciated that.

“Thanks for watching them,” Adam said.

“Anytime,” Torrie replied.

Polly grabbed Torrie around the waist.

“Can I stay?”

“No,” Adam and Roxy said together.

Polly frowned.

Eric leaned toward her.

“I’d keep you, but your dad knows where we live.”

“Unfortunately,” Adam said.

Torrie kissed Polly’s forehead.

“Next time.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Not tomorrow.”

“Saturday?”

“We’ll negotiate.”

Adam shook his head.

“This is why she thinks she controls the schedule.”

“She does,” Torrie said.

Roxy hugged Torrie next.

Then Eric.

Adam gathered bags, backpacks, and two daughters and finally got everyone into the SUV.

As he started the engine, Roxy spoke from the back.

“Who did you talk to?”

Adam looked into the rearview mirror.

She was staring directly at him.

“You’re still on that?”

“You avoided the question.”

“I answered it.”

“You said a person.”

“That is technically accurate.”

Roxy waited.

Adam sighed.

“Her name is Madison.”

Roxy’s eyebrows lifted.

Polly immediately joined in.

“Who’s Madison?”

“Someone I met at the store.”

“Is she nice?”

“Yes.”

“Did she buy strawberry syrup?”

Adam closed his eyes.

“I have no idea.”

Roxy smiled.

“Did you get her number?”

Adam looked in the mirror again.

That was not the question he expected from his ten-year-old.

“Why would you ask me that?”

Roxy shrugged.

“You talked for an hour.”

Adam started backing out of the driveway.

“We are absolutely done with this conversation.”

Roxy laughed.

Polly leaned toward her sister.

“What number?”

“I’ll explain later.”

“No, you won’t,” Adam said.

Roxy laughed harder.

---

The house was finally quiet by ten.

Polly had argued that she wasn’t tired until approximately thirty seconds after her head hit the pillow.

Roxy had needed water.

Then another blanket.

Then suddenly remembered she had a question about something happening at school three days from now.

Eventually both girls settled.

Adam cleaned the kitchen.

Put the milk away.

Put the cereal in the pantry.

Set the toothpaste in the bathroom so he wouldn’t forget it existed.

Then he stood in the living room alone.

The television was off.

A lamp beside the couch threw soft light across the room.

Family pictures lined one shelf.

Adam moved toward them.

Rachel was everywhere without being everywhere.

That had been deliberate.

He had never turned the house into some kind of memorial.

But he hadn’t removed her either.

She was their mother.

His wife.

She had lived here.

Loved here.

Raised children here.

There was no reason to pretend otherwise.

Adam picked up one photograph.

Rachel stood beside him at what looked like Roxy’s fifth birthday.

That would have been shortly before everything changed.

He ran his thumb along the edge of the frame.

“Today was weird,” he said quietly.

He smiled at himself.

Talking to photographs.

Great.

He put it back.

His phone sat on the coffee table.

Adam looked at it.

Madison Zebisher.

Twenty-five.

Fourth-grade teacher.

Monster-movie snob.

He smiled.

Then immediately felt something else underneath it.

Guilt.

Small.

Unreasonable.

But there.

He knew he hadn’t done anything wrong.

Rachel had been gone four years.

He wasn’t cheating.

He wasn’t betraying anyone.

He had talked to a woman.

That was all.

Still, the cheek kiss came back to him.

How natural it had felt for half a second.

Then how strange.

Adam sat on the couch.

He picked up the phone.

Opened Madison’s contact.

Just stared at it.

He hadn’t done this in years.

Not really.

Hadn’t looked at a woman’s number and wondered whether he should text.

Hadn’t wondered whether she was thinking about him.

Hadn’t wanted someone new to think about him.

His thumb hovered over the screen.

Then the phone buzzed.

Adam almost dropped it.

A message.

Madison Zebisher

He opened it.

For the record, the third one is still complete garbage.

Adam stared at the words.

Then laughed.

Actually laughed.

He typed back.

I knew there was a reason I trusted you.

The response came less than a minute later.

That and my excellent toothpaste navigation skills.

Adam smiled.

You’ll never let that go, will you?

Three dots appeared.

Absolutely not.

Adam leaned back into the couch.

The house remained quiet.

Rachel’s picture remained on the shelf.

Roxy and Polly slept upstairs.

Nothing about his life had changed.

Not really.

He had gone to Walmart.

Met a woman.

Talked for an hour.

Got her number.

That was all.

His phone buzzed again.

Madison: So what other terrible movies are you willing to defend?

Adam looked at the message.

Then toward the family photographs.

Then back at the phone.

A smile slowly returned.

He started typing.

And the conversation continued.