"Dad's dead." I dropped down on Talia's couch, my black socks with the hole in the toe a stark contrast to her white plush rug.

Growing up, our home had been cozy and cluttered. It was a place that was well lived-in and well loved. Her apartment these days was ruthlessly maintained by a housekeeper. I'd never seen a speck of dust or a dish left out on the counter, and her furniture was the latest in high-end contemporary design, where comfort had somehow been left out of the ...