The coffee filters were on the top shelf, but Kayla kept asking Andrew to reach them whenever she crossed our kitchen in a towel. She called it a test, even after I told her to stop. On Sunday, Andrew set down his coffee, unlocked his phone, and showed her why he’d stopped leaving the room that day.

“I found a listing,” Andrew answered.

I picked up his phone and looked at it.

A bright upstairs bedroom. Shared kitchen. Small backyard.

Nothing luxurious.

Nothing awful.

Just a room.

I held the phone toward Kayla.

“I’m not moving there.”

“Then don’t. We’re still looking.”

She frowned.

“You can’t make me.”

“You’re right.” I set the phone down. “But if you’re staying here while you figure out your next step, I need to see you taking one.”

Kayla stared at me.