February evening

Our living room is messy, filled with books and papers and laptop computers. It’s the fourth week of the semester, which means we’re all busy. Piano music is piled on top of Shaggy Hair Boy’s laptop. My husband has a yellow legal pad at his side, a long to-do list filling the whole first page.

Boy in Black, stripped down to a pair of black shorts, is taking up the only available floor space: he’s doing push-ups. With-a-Why is flipping through the graphic novel he wrote for a school project. The room smells like homemade applesauce. It’s not the season for applesauce, but I wanted to send food over to a friend who is going through chemotherapy, and applesauce is something she can eat. Boy in Black’s phone is playing “One More Cup of Coffee.”

Shaggy Hair Boy arrives, carrying two tins of homemade cookies. He’s been to his grandparents’ house. “Here you go,” he says, handing one of the tins to Boy in Black. “That one’s for the apartment.” Then he opens the other tin, and we all grab some of my mother’s delicious cookies.