Marilyn

Sunday morning, Devan, Justin, Ricky, and I sit around Devan’s kitchen table, talking and laughing in a way that seems too good to be true. It’s casual and comfortable, the men in their nylon shorts and T-shirts, and Devan and me in our pajamas with our hair pulled back in ponytails. For the two of us, it’s like when we lived together. Sunday mornings were always our together time.

Unlike in our apartment in Muncie, it’s not only ...