around.
That morning, I had gone to a job interview in the navy blazer I saved for important meetings. I stopped for coffee afterward, drove home, and noticed a few moving boxes near the elevator.
Nothing suggested my family had decided my home was available for reassignment.
Now Mom stood in my kitchen holding an emergency key as if she had borrowed it to water my plants.
“More than I do?”
“You’re between jobs.”
“I lost my job three days ago.”
“Yes.”
“And therefore I stopped living here?”
“That isn’t
