Becoming Grey: Episode 23

Chapter 23 

August 7, 2021 

Juna had packed a wooden spoon, three plastic animals, and one of Hannah’s controllers before Callie discovered that they had very different ideas about what belonged in California. The spoon lay across the top of the little backpack, its handle sticking out beside a rabbit with most of one ear chewed off. Juna stood over the bag in her purple shorts, trying to force the zipper around the controller. She had planted both feet for leverage and was pulling hard enough that Callie could hear the teeth catching. On the bed behind her, Callie’s folded shirts occupied half a box. The other half contained a screwdriver set she had put there temporarily and then spent twenty minutes looking for. She retrieved the tools, set them beside her laptop, and crouched next to her daughter before the zipper lost the argument. 

“That isn’t ours,” she said, easing the controller out. 

“I need it.” Juna reached for it immediately, offended by the suggestion that her packing decisions were open to review. “For my game.” 

“Hannah needs it for her game.” Callie put it on the dresser, beyond the limits of Juna’s determined reach. “You can bring the little controller Grandpa gave you.” 

Juna looked toward the shelf where her toy controller sat, its cheerful buttons promising noises that had become considerably less cheerful after the first hundred repetitions. “That one’s pretend.” 

“You mostly pretend with Hannah’s too.” Callie caught the backpack before Juna could tip it over and examined the rest of its contents. A sock had been wedged beneath the animals. Just one. The spoon, at least, had company. “Did Grandma say you could take this?” 

“For stirring.” Juna made a small circle with her hand, apparently willing to explain the object’s function if that was what Callie required. “We make pancakes.” 

Callie looked at the spoon again. Sally had used it the previous Sunday while Juna stood on the kitchen stool and supervised the batter. There had been flour on the counter, on Juna’s cheek, and somehow on Stuart’s elbow despite his claim that he was only passing through. Callie had been answering an email about preschool hours and had come into the kitchen when her daughter called for somebody to admire a lumpy pancake. It had not occurred to her that Juna might be collecting the things necessary to make that morning happen somewhere else. She left the spoon in the bag and tucked the sock around its handle. “We should probably ask first. And find the other sock.” 

Hannah appeared in the doorway carrying a glass of water. Her eyes went to the controller on the dresser before she looked at either of them. “I spent ten minutes looking for that.” 

“Your niece is expanding her collection,” Callie said. She stood and returned to the bed, where the empty corner of the box had already attracted a plastic giraffe. “You might want to check whether your Switch is still downstairs.” 

“It is. I hid it.” Hannah picked up the controller and turned it over to inspect it, then looked down at Juna. “This has a sticker on it. That means it belongs to me.” 

Juna considered that distinction with the interest of someone being introduced to a potentially useful legal principle. “I have stickers.” 

“Don’t encourage her,” Callie said, though Hannah was already smiling. She lifted the giraffe from the box and returned it to the backpack. “No stickers on anybody’s electronics. That includes mine.” 

Hannah leaned against the dresser and surveyed the room. Callie had brought the boxes up that morning, intending to sort things she could live without for the next two weeks. So far she had sealed one, misplaced the tape twice, and discovered that she had been keeping three notebooks because each contained a single page she might need. The gown from graduation still hung inside the closet door. Beside the desk, a stack of PPU papers had grown thick enough to require a folder, which had then required a second folder because Callie could not find anything in the first. Hannah nudged an empty box with her foot. “You know you can buy stuff there, right? California has achieved retail.” 

“I’m aware. Buying things I already own seems like a questionable financial strategy.” Callie reached for the small framed circuit diagram above her desk. It was one of the first projects she had understood well enough to redraw without looking, and she had put it up years ago after Mr. Steverson marked the original with a grudgingly approving comment. The frame lifted from its hook with a soft scrape. Beneath it, the wall was a slightly different shade of lavender, clean where the rest had faded. She rubbed her thumb over the edge of the frame and laid it face down on a shirt. “Besides, I’m not bringing everything.” 

“Good. I need room for the couch.” Hannah’s gaze stayed on the patch of wall for another moment before she looked toward the bed. “Once this becomes my gaming room.” 

“Mom might have thoughts about that.” 

“Mom has thoughts about everything. I’ll put a blanket over the couch and call it a reading area.” Hannah took a drink and pushed away from the dresser. She paused long enough to set Juna’s toy controller beside the backpack, then went out into the hall with the real one under her arm. Callie could hear her footsteps crossing to her own room. The distance was short enough that Hannah could have continued the conversation without raising her voice, but she did not. 

By the time Callie carried the folders downstairs, Sally had cleared one end of the kitchen table and left a space for her laptop. The morning heat was finding its way through the open windows, bringing the smell of cut grass and the irregular clatter of Stuart working in the garage. Juna brought her backpack with her and put it on the chair beside Callie’s. She had found the other sock. She also appeared to have found a second spoon, though Callie decided to let her mother handle that discovery when it happened. 

Sally opened the folder marked HOUSING and spread the lease beside a printed photograph of the apartment. “Your father spoke to the property manager yesterday. She confirmed when you can collect the keys.” 

“I spoke to her too.” Callie sat and woke the laptop. The photograph showed a narrow living room, a sliding door onto a little balcony, and carpet that looked reasonably clean in pictures taken by somebody trying to rent it. Callie had asked for a video tour. Then she had asked to see the windows open, which Maggie had described as an exciting new standard in architectural criticism. “He asked about the smoke alarms again, didn’t he?” 

“He asked where they were.” Sally settled opposite her. “Which was a perfectly reasonable question.” 

Callie opened the budget spreadsheet and resisted the urge to change a column width before she had dealt with anything useful. The apartment was real now. There were signatures on the lease, money committed to the deposit, and two names beneath the spaces marked tenants. Maggie would take the smaller bedroom because she preferred its window; Callie and Juna would share the other. University family housing had remained an option, but it would not have accommodated the arrangement she and Maggie wanted. They had spent three evenings comparing listings before deciding the place did not have to be perfect to be safe and workable. This one was close enough to campus for Callie to imagine the trip without mentally adding a second life to every morning. 

“The deposit’s gone through,” she said. “Maggie sent her half. First month is on here, utilities are still estimates, and I have the preschool orientation on the calendar.” She turned the laptop toward her mother. “They’re holding Juna’s place. I confirmed that again yesterday.” 

Sally examined the page Callie passed her. “And the afternoon hours?” 

“They cover the schedule I have now. If I change lab sections, I have to check before I accept the change.” Callie ran a finger down her class list. There was one afternoon she had been studying too closely since the schedule arrived, measuring the distance between the last class and pickup as though the buildings might move if she failed to watch them. “The first week is shorter for Juna. They want her to get used to it.” 

“That sounds sensible.” Sally looked toward the chair where Juna had begun arranging her animals in a row. “Have you talked to her about what preschool will be like?” 

“A little. We’re going to look at the pictures again tonight.” Callie watched her daughter turn the rabbit to face the giraffe. In the photographs, the preschool room had low tables, bright shelves, and a door marked with a painted sun. She had looked at the staff information before anything else. Juna had wanted to know whether the blocks were for everybody. Neither question answered what Callie actually wanted to know, which was whether her daughter would cry when she left and how she was supposed to walk out if she did. She pulled the class list back toward her. “I have their number saved.” 

Juna climbed down from the chair and came to Callie’s knee. “I’m hungry.” 

“Grandma’s making lunch in a minute.” Callie brushed the hair away from her daughter’s forehead and glanced at the clock. She had meant to give her a snack nearly half an hour earlier. The reminder was still sitting on the screen behind the spreadsheet, dismissed without ever reaching the part of her brain responsible for finding crackers. “Actually, let’s do some apple first.” 

“We can take a break,” Sally said. She closed the housing folder while Callie went to the counter, and by the time the apple was cut, Juna had been given a plate and a firm instruction to sit while eating. The laptop stayed open on the table. Callie could see the bright rectangles of the calendar from the sink and had to make herself leave them alone while Juna asked whether California apples were red. 

Stuart came in with sawdust caught on the front of his shirt. He washed his hands, accepted a slice of apple when Juna offered it, and looked over Sally’s shoulder at the apartment photograph. “I checked the parking too.” 

“I knew there was more,” Callie said. She returned to her chair and moved the plate away from the keyboard. “Dad, I asked about parking before we signed.” 

“Then we have confirmation.” He pulled out the chair at the end of the table. “Your mother likes confirmation.” 

Sally gave him a look, but her attention had gone to the small radio on the windowsill. The music had ended, and a newsreader was introducing a report from California. Callie heard a hospital administrator talking about transfer delays before she reached over to lower the volume. Sally lifted a hand, asking her to wait. Across the table, Juna was trying to stand the giraffe beside her apple slices, entirely uninterested in the list of intake facilities struggling to find space. 

The report lasted only a few minutes. There had been reports like it all summer, often from cities on the coasts, where enough people lived close together that a new count could become old before the evening broadcast. Callie had learned to listen for the parts officials could explain and the parts they passed over with phrases about ongoing coordination. Ridgemont still had no confirmed case. At Grey’s, employees had practiced the procedures anyway, and Stuart had stopped referring to them as something the stores might need someday. A training notice remained pinned beside the stockroom schedule. Deliveries arrived with updated instructions. The preparations had become ordinary even while the event they were preparing for remained somebody else’s emergency. 

When the station returned to local weather, Sally reached for the folder again. “Did PPU send their Smallara information?” 

“Yes. I saved it.” Callie opened another tab and turned the screen. “There’s a contact number for suspected exposure and a separate one for emergencies. I’ve got the current instructions downloaded too.” 

Stuart leaned forward to read. “They changed some of ours last month. Keep checking.” 

“I will.” Callie understood why he had said it. The five results Sally had opened the previous fall had settled what Smallara could do to their family. None of them would transform. They could still carry it to somebody who could. Callie had read Juna’s result so often that she could still picture the placement of the word on the screen. It was easier to remember that reassurance than the other part, the part that meant a frightened classmate would not be safe simply because Callie felt fine standing beside them. “I’m not treating our results like permission to ignore it.” 

“I know you’re not,” Sally said. Her fingers rested on the photograph of the apartment. “It feels different when that’s where you’re going.” 

Callie could have pointed out that people traveled, that Minnesota did not have a wall around it, or that Stuart had been predicting a local case for months. Instead she looked at the little balcony in the photograph and tried to imagine the radio playing in that room. She had wanted California before she knew what taking Juna there would require. She still wanted it. Wanting something had become a more complicated business than it used to be. “We’ll follow the procedures,” she said. “And I’ve finished the training.” 

“We’ve finished the training,” Hannah corrected from the doorway. She crossed to the refrigerator and took out the pitcher of water. “Unless you’ve decided my participation was theoretical.” 

“I thought yours was transportation related.” Callie moved the Guardian records from one folder to the other, making sure the pages did not get left beneath the lease. “Very convenient class, apparently.” 

Hannah shut the refrigerator with her hip. “It was. We live at the same address.” She looked at the campus instructions on the screen while filling her glass, her expression losing some of its amusement. In the classroom, she had asked so many questions about one handling demonstration that the instructor finally went back and performed it again. She had been right about the unstable support beneath the model. Callie had been proud of her and annoyed that Hannah had noticed first, a combination she recognized from several years of sisterhood. “Keep the original documents somewhere you can actually find them,” Hannah said. “Not in the box with the Christmas lights.” 

“That happened once.” 

“Which made it memorable.” Hannah set her glass down and reached into Juna’s open backpack. She lifted the second spoon between two fingers. “Grandma, your kitchen’s being relocated.” 

Sally considered the evidence and gave Juna permission to bring one spoon. The negotiation that followed occupied enough of the table’s attention that Stuart began making sandwiches without being asked. Callie found the copy of Juna’s immunity result for the preschool paperwork and clipped it behind the other records. A year ago the family had waited together for those classifications. Now the forms had spaces for them between contact information and signatures. She put the folder out of Juna’s reach as her daughter triumphantly selected the larger spoon. 

Maggie and Luke arrived after lunch with packing tape, a bag of chips, and a dispute about whether Luke’s car could have survived a drive to California. They brought the disagreement upstairs, where Juna met them with her backpack open and immediately informed Luke that he could carry it but could not take anything out. He accepted these terms with exaggerated seriousness and set the bag beside the bed. Maggie put the tape on the desk and lifted a shirt from the box beneath it, exposing the frame Callie had wrapped that morning. 

“Do we have a system?” she asked. 

“Yes.” Callie pointed to the boxes along the wall. “Clothes, books, desk stuff. Things I don’t need until we’re there. The things I’m still using stay out.” 

Luke looked at the laptop, the screwdriver set, and the stack of notebooks beside it. “So basically all your possessions stay out.” He sat on the edge of the bed and opened the chips. “I’ll supervise.” 

“You can fold the box,” Maggie said, passing him a flat one before he could settle. She held the circuit diagram while Callie found another shirt to pad it. “I’m bringing my little printer. We don’t need two.” 

“I wasn’t planning to bring one.” Callie tucked the shirt around the frame and folded the flaps loosely over it. She liked the sound of Maggie saying we about the apartment. Their messages had been full of furniture measurements and who owned a can opener, but hearing it here made the arrangement feel less like a collection of documents. “Did you get your studio supplies list?” 

Maggie pulled her phone from her pocket. “Yesterday. There’s a model-making kit, some drawing stuff, and software I’m pretty sure requires me to sell an organ.” She scrolled and turned the screen toward Callie. “Look at the first project brief. They’re giving everybody the same task and making us watch how people try to do it. Apparently we’re not allowed to help.” 

Callie read the paragraph and frowned. “Even if they’re doing it wrong?” 

“Especially then.” Maggie watched her expression with obvious pleasure. “You’re going to hate visiting my classes.” She took the phone back and read further. “I want to see how they teach the research side. Not just making something look good. Figuring out what people actually need before you decide you know.” 

Callie understood the appeal, though she suspected the not helping rule would become unbearable within minutes. PPU had sent information about the introductory engineering labs too, and she had read the descriptions with the kind of attention she usually gave a problem that refused to explain itself. She could picture a bench, components spread beneath her hands, and something new to work out. She had been leaving those pages open on her laptop between housing searches because she needed to remember there would be more to California than driving Juna to preschool and paying rent. Maggie was looking forward to different rooms on the same campus. Callie liked knowing she would have somebody to tell about hers. 

Luke had folded the box incorrectly and was staring at its bottom. “Boston sent me a thing about group projects,” he said. “I think they were trying to sell it as a benefit.” 

“You’ll be the one doing the presentation,” Maggie said, taking two corners of the cardboard and showing him where to fold them. “You’ve been practicing since we were twelve.” 

“I have natural gifts.” He corrected the box, pressed the bottom together, and held it out for tape. “Questrom’s going to appreciate that.” 

Callie secured the seam while he kept the flaps still. “They might also want you to do the business part of the business degree.” 

“Marketing is the business part. I’m going to convince people that things are worth buying.” Luke looked at the crooked strip of tape and added, “Possibly even things that aren’t.” 

“Please choose something useful,” Callie said. She passed him another box and watched him fold it correctly this time. For all his confidence about Boston University, he had asked her the previous night whether taking two suitcases would make him look like an idiot. She had told him nobody worth worrying about would be counting. He had changed the subject immediately, then sent her a photograph of the suitcases ten minutes later. “Did you figure out what you’re bringing?” 

“Mostly. I don’t know what I’m doing with my bike. Or how much winter stuff to pack right away.” He shook the new box into shape and glanced toward the window. “My dad keeps explaining the airport like I’m planning to walk onto the runway. I know how airports work.” 

Maggie sat crosslegged beside the books and began checking the titles against the list Callie had left on top. “He knows you know. He just needs a job.” 

Callie thought of Stuart asking about the smoke alarms again and decided not to complain about it next time. Across the room, Luke had stopped working long enough for Juna to show him the contents of her backpack. He admired the animals individually, giving the giraffe an accent Juna found deeply suspicious. When he reached for the spoon, she stopped him with both hands. The spoon was for pancakes. He could carry it, but he could not cook with it without asking her. Luke agreed, and Callie could see him making an effort not to laugh at the serious arrangement being imposed upon him. 

Hannah came back upstairs while Maggie and Callie were discussing a cheap table somebody near campus had listed for sale. She sat on the floor in the doorway, just outside the reach of an empty box, and listened. Callie asked whether the table could fit in Maggie’s car when they collected it. Luke volunteered to provide moral support from Boston, where his arms would be entirely unavailable. They began working out when they could all call, and what would happen to their gaming nights once the three of them lived in two different time zones plus the one they were leaving behind. Hannah corrected Luke’s first calculation. Callie corrected his second. He accused them of conspiring against a future marketing professional. 

“You can just call,” Luke said eventually. “We don’t need a treaty.” 

“You’ll call when I’m putting Juna to bed,” Callie said, sorting a handful of charging cables. “Then complain that I disappeared.” 

He started to answer, looked at Juna leaning against his knee, and let the objection go. “Fine. Tell me when. I’ll put it in my phone.” He held it up as proof of his willingness to submit to civilization. “And send me the apartment address. I need to know where birthday stuff goes.” 

Juna lifted her head. “My birthday’s done.” 

“There’ll be another one,” Luke assured her. He bent to pick up a book she had kicked under the bed and put it beside the backpack. “They keep coming. It’s a whole thing.” 

Callie pictured his message arriving late at night after she had fallen asleep over a problem set, or Maggie sending a photograph from a campus event Callie could not attend. She had missed things before. Her friends had kept finding their way to her anyway, through the kitchen door or a message she answered after Juna settled. Boston would require more intention from all of them. She handed Luke her phone so he could enter the address without pretending to memorize it, then let him finish the chips while Maggie closed the book box. For a little while the room felt comfortably overcrowded, everybody working around the same obstacles. 

Juna wandered over to Hannah and stood between her knees. “Where’s your bag?” 

Hannah looked up from the cable she was winding. “Downstairs.” 

“For the new house.” Juna pointed toward Maggie’s stack of supplies, then toward Callie’s suitcase beside the closet. “Mommy has one.” 

Callie put down the tape. “Hannah’s staying here, sweetheart. She still goes to school here.” She had said it before, but Juna had been too interested in whether Gus could have his own bed to pursue the question. Now she looked from the suitcase to Hannah as though somebody had neglected an obvious piece of the plan. “You and me are moving. Maggie’s going to live with us.” 

Juna turned back to Hannah. “You come too.” 

“I don’t think Grandma would appreciate you recruiting everybody.” Hannah touched the rabbit peeking out of the backpack. “Somebody has to stay and make sure Grandpa doesn’t become a potato.” 

Juna giggled, but she did not move away. She put the rabbit in Hannah’s lap and announced that he could stay until Hannah found her bag. Callie waited for her sister to answer. Hannah looked down at the toy for long enough that Maggie began gathering loose books without saying anything. Then Hannah tucked it into Juna’s arms and told her the rabbit would be lonely without his giraffe. Juna accepted the correction and went to reunite them, carrying both against her chest. 

“At least Maggie gets a proper room,” Hannah said. She had tightened the cable into a smaller coil than it needed. “No waiting for Juna to go to sleep.” 

“It’s the smaller one,” Callie said. “And we’ll probably switch things around as Juna gets older. I don’t know yet.” She reached for the apartment photograph she had brought upstairs to show Maggie. “There’s enough room for a little bed next to mine.” 

“I’ve seen it.” Hannah set the cable on the floor and got up. “I’m going to see if Mom needs help.” She went downstairs before Callie could ask what was wrong, leaving a shallow dent in the carpet where she had been sitting. Callie looked at Maggie, who was still putting books into the box. There was nothing useful to say with Luke across the room and Juna holding an urgent conference with her animals. She folded the photograph and slipped it back into the folder. 

They finished two more boxes before Maggie and Luke left. Maggie took the apartment documents she needed and promised to send Callie a photograph of the printer’s model number before buying ink. Luke carried the books downstairs, announcing their weight loudly enough that Stuart came in from the garage to ask whether anybody required rescue. Juna escorted them to the door and made Luke return her backpack before he went. She was happy to delegate labor, Callie thought, but she had a sensible distrust of where he might take it. When the door closed, the house seemed unusually quiet despite Stuart still searching for something in the hall cupboard and Sally asking whether anyone had seen the missing spoon. 

Callie was halfway upstairs before she realized she had decided to follow Hannah. Her sister’s door was half open, and from inside came the familiar sounds of a game, turned low. Callie could have stopped there. Instead she went into her own room, moved the framed diagram into the correct box, and sat down at the desk. She opened a packing list and read the same item twice. The neat coil of cable still lay where Hannah had left it. She picked it up, recognized the spare charging cord they had both been using for months, and set it beside the laptop rather than packing it. 

Hannah appeared a few minutes later. She glanced at the cord, then at the open box. “Were you taking that?” 

“I have another one.” Callie pushed it toward the edge of the desk. “You can keep it.” 

Hannah stepped into the room but did not pick it up. She looked at the empty hook above the desk, the stack of boxes, and finally the closet where Callie’s suitcase stood open. “You’re packing really early.” 

“If I leave it until the night before, Mom might actually kill me.” Callie closed the laptop halfway. The room had grown hot while they worked, and she could feel sweat beneath the hair at the back of her neck. Hannah stood close enough to the fan that its current moved the loose ends of her hair, but she seemed not to notice. “There’s still stuff I’m using. I’m just trying to get some of it done.” 

“I know.” Hannah rubbed her thumb over a mark on the desk. Callie had made it years ago with a tool she was not supposed to be using without something beneath it. Hannah had been delighted by the evidence until she realized it could also implicate her for having watched. “You don’t have to explain packing to me.” 

Callie moved a book off the end of the bed. “You want to sit?” 

Hannah sat, though she kept her hands together between her knees and looked toward the window. Outside, Stuart had started the lawn mower. He made one pass close to the house, the engine loud enough that Callie waited until he had turned before speaking. She had always known where Hannah was by those small sounds across the hall: a game starting, a drawer shutting, somebody laughing into a phone. Even when Callie wanted her to go away, there had been a particular comfort in knowing that Hannah would probably be back to annoy her in twenty minutes. She had spent weeks considering how far she would be from her parents. Somehow she had treated her sister as part of the house itself, available whenever she came home. 

“Did I say something downstairs?” Callie asked. “About the apartment?” 

Hannah shook her head and pulled one foot up onto the bed. “No. I just don’t need another explanation of which room Maggie’s getting.” She looked at Callie then, embarrassed enough to sound irritated. “I know why she’s going. I’m not being stupid about it.” 

“I don’t think you are.” Callie turned the chair so she could face her properly. “I didn’t understand what you meant.” 

Hannah picked at a loose thread on the bedspread. For a while she seemed determined to remove it before answering. “You keep saying two weeks. Everybody keeps saying it. Like it’s when a package gets here or something.” She let go of the thread. “I know you’re leaving. I’ve known forever. It just didn’t look like this before.” 

Callie followed her glance to the bare rectangle on the wall. That morning it had been evidence that she had finally started. Now she wished she had left the frame up until the last possible minute, though Hannah would still have seen the suitcase and the boxes. There was no way to prepare for a move without changing the room she was moving out of. She put her hands flat on her thighs to keep from reaching for something to fix. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about everything I have to get done.” 

“I know you have stuff.” Hannah swallowed and looked away again. “It’s just, I’ll come upstairs and you won’t be here. If something happens, or I see something stupid, I can’t just come tell you. I have to get my phone and find out if you’re busy.” She gave a short, unhappy laugh. “And you’re always busy.” 

Callie thought of the messages she read while helping Juna get dressed, the replies composed in her head that never made it onto the screen. She had become efficient at postponing things she loved because something else needed her immediately. From the other side of the hall, Hannah had been able to ignore the postponement and walk in. California would give Callie reasons to keep putting a call off until the moment had passed. She did not want to promise her sister that she would suddenly become a different person with more hours available. “You can still send me the stupid thing,” she said. “Even if I don’t answer right away.” 

“That’s not the same.” Hannah said it quietly, with none of the insistence she used when they disagreed over something that could be settled. “And Juna’s going too. She’s going to do all this stuff, and you’ll send pictures, and I’ll be somebody on your phone.” 

“You won’t be somebody on my phone.” Callie moved from the chair to sit beside her. The mattress dipped, shifting the remaining pile of shirts toward them. “You’re Hannah. She’s going to ask where you are the first time I won’t let her do something.” 

Hannah tried to smile, then pressed her lips together. Callie watched her struggle with it and understood that another joke would make her cry. She put an arm around her shoulders instead. Hannah sat stiffly for a moment before leaning against her, and Callie could feel how hard she was working to keep the conversation ordinary. Her sister had been in every home Callie remembered, close enough to borrow things without asking and interrupt before a thought was finished. Juna would remember this house too, but she would also have classrooms and birthdays and mornings Hannah would hear about afterward. Callie had wanted the move badly enough to work for it. She had not allowed herself much time to imagine who would be left standing in the hallway once the car was gone. 

“I’ll miss you,” she said. She kept her voice low because anything more elaborate felt beyond her. “Even when you’re annoying.” 

“I’m helping you develop patience.” Hannah wiped beneath one eye with the side of her finger. “It’s obviously an ongoing project.” 

Callie held her a little closer and let the mower fill the silence while Stuart worked his way toward the far end of the yard. Downstairs, Juna called for Grandma to look at something. Sally answered, and there was a thump followed by a firm instruction about climbing furniture. Callie knew which chair Juna was probably on. Hannah knew too; she straightened enough to listen, then relaxed when Sally’s voice returned to normal. They had learned the same household noises so thoroughly that neither needed to see what had happened. Soon Hannah would hear them without Callie, and Callie would be learning a different set in an apartment she had only seen on a screen. 

“Could we do a game night?” Callie asked eventually. “Something we actually put on the calendar. Once I know my schedule there.” 

Hannah considered it, rubbing her hands over her knees. “You can’t spend the whole time telling me to wait because you’re answering email.” 

“Fair.” Callie nodded toward the laptop. “I’ll close it.” 

“And if we have to change it, you tell me. You don’t just vanish.” Hannah turned to face her, sounding more like herself now that there were terms to establish. “I don’t want to sit there wondering if you forgot.” 

Callie could imagine doing exactly that without meaning to. She could also imagine putting the reminder somewhere she would see it and treating the call as something that belonged in the day instead of whatever remained afterward. “I’ll tell you,” she said. “And you get to be busy too. You don’t have to keep the night free forever because I’m the one who moved.” 

Hannah looked down at the shirts between them and folded one that had slipped loose. “I’ll probably be busy running Grey’s after Dad finally admits I’m the competent one.” She set it back on the pile, then reached across Callie for another. They folded together for a while without discussing California. When Juna came upstairs demanding to know why they were sitting on the bed without her, Hannah moved the shirts to make a space. Juna climbed between them, pressed the rabbit into Callie’s hands, and announced that the giraffe was tired. Callie accepted responsibility for its nap. Hannah lay back on the pillows and asked how the giraffe was supposed to sleep with a neck like that, and Juna began demonstrating with enough seriousness that neither of them dared laugh until she did. 

By evening, Callie had put the lid on another box and remembered a question she wanted to ask the preschool office. They would not be answering until Monday. She wrote it down instead of pretending she would remember it, then went downstairs when Sally called them to dinner. Stuart asked how the packing was going and listened while Juna explained that everybody was allowed one spoon. Hannah passed Callie the bread without looking at her, an ordinary gesture that Callie noticed because of everything they had said upstairs. The talk moved to Luke’s trip, Maggie’s car, and whether the little table in the apartment photographs would survive Stuart leaning on it. Nobody asked Hannah to repeat the conversation. Callie was grateful for that. 

Juna grew tired halfway through her bath and became furious about the injustice of having to get out of the water. Callie wrapped her in a towel, carried her to the bedroom, and spent several minutes persuading her that pajamas were compatible with continuing to be awake. The rabbit had to be found. Gus had to be moved to the correct side of the pillow. Then Juna chose the familiar picture book Callie had put into the books box that afternoon. Callie stared at the shelf where it usually sat before remembering, and had to go back to her own room with a pair of scissors while Juna waited in bed and complained that she had already asked nicely. 

Hannah met her at the doorway. “Forgot something?” 

“Only a critical part of civilization.” Callie cut the tape and lifted out the first stack of books. The bedtime story was halfway down. She removed it carefully and set it on top of the folder marked things to keep out. “This can go with us in the car.” 

“Put that on the list,” Hannah said, but she followed Callie into Juna’s room and sat on the floor while the story began. Juna insisted on showing her each picture even though Hannah could see it perfectly well from where she sat. Callie read more slowly than she had meant to. The room smelled of the soap they always used, and her daughter’s damp hair left a cool spot on her sleeve. Halfway through the book, Juna supplied a line from memory and looked pleased when Hannah laughed at the right place. By the last page her eyelids were heavy, but she still made Callie promise the book was coming west. Callie tucked it into the pocket of the bag beside the bed where Juna could see it, then kissed her forehead and waited until her fingers loosened around the rabbit. 

Back in her own room, Callie stood over the reopened box and considered sealing it again. There were clothes to finish, emails she could draft, and a collection of cables she still had not sorted because one had led her back to a problem on the laptop. Hannah appeared carrying the Switch and two controllers. She paused in the doorway rather than coming straight in, and Callie hated that small hesitation enough to clear the papers from the bed before her sister spoke. 

“One race?” Hannah asked. She held up the controllers. “Unless you need to organize every battery you’ve ever owned.” 

Callie pushed the laptop shut and made room beside her. “The batteries can wait.” 

They started with one race, then continued because Callie refused to accept the result of the first. Hannah sat with a pillow against her back and accused her of claiming a faulty controller whenever she lost, which was unfair only because the controller occasionally was faulty. In the next room, Juna shifted in her sleep. Both sisters lowered their voices without discussing it, and Hannah turned the game down one notch. Callie leaned sideways to avoid a box digging into her leg, missed the corner on the screen, and heard Hannah begin laughing before the little car had finished falling. She threatened to check the controller after all. Hannah told her to learn to drive. The empty hook remained above the desk, and the packing list lay beneath the closed laptop while they chose another course. 

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