I roll over and open my eyes, completely refreshed after sleeping so long and the smell of food drifting my way. I sit up on the couch and blink at the tv, still playing on low, the noise of Arrick clanging pans or whatever’s in the kitchen, and gaze over the back of the couch to watch him.

He’s been making Ragu sauce by the smell of it, his moms’ recipe, and I can see the pasta on the counter. He made his own. She used to teach me how to do all that stuff when I was younger too, ...