was ours?”
She shrugged.
“Your father was bad with money. And bad with boundaries.”
I went upstairs and cried into my pillow like I was twelve again.
I heard Noah outside my door but he didn’t come in.
He’s always been quiet like that.
Two nights later he knocked on my door holding a stack of old denim.
Mom’s jeans.
She used to collect them.
He dropped them on my bed and said, “Do you trust me?”
I looked at him. “With what?”
“I took sewing last year. Remember?”
I
