Page 87 of Once Upon a Fall

I snort out a laugh. “It’s all I ever knew.”

“She was always dating someone?”

“Pretty much. Sometimes it was serious; most times it wasn’t. We actually moved across the country for one of them.”

“You moved because of a guy she was dating?”

“Yeah. To Phoenix. It only lasted a month. My mom hated the weather. And eventually the guy too.”

“I can’t imagine. My dad has lived in the same house for over thirty years.”

“And mine is moving again to Vegas.”

“Didn’t you just say she hated the weather in Phoenix?”

“Exactly,” I say, my tone flat.

“For another guy?”

“With husband number three.”

Rosie winces. “Okay. That does make my dad dating Alvina feel slightly less catastrophic.”

“Slightly less?”

“I think she’s been divorced a few times.”

I bob my head back and forth. “Fair enough.” I give her a half smile. “Your dad isn’t my mom, though. Dating someone doesn’t mean he’s about to change everything.”

“I know.” She lets out a breath. “I think I just need some time to get used to the idea.”

“Then you should give it some time.”

It’s quiet for a minute while I sprinkle Parmesan over the broccoli.

“Was that hard? Moving around like that?” Rosie asks after I close the oven.

I shrug. “You get used to it.”

“Did you?”

I glance over at her. Most people take you get used to it as an answer. Not Rosie.

“I guess,” I say, turning back to the stove. “After a while, I stopped getting attached to the apartments.”

“Is that why you don’t mind living in hotels? Or, cozy, understated inns,” she says, and I look back to catch a smirk on her lips.

I should make some comment about the inn or make a joke about hot glue. Instead, I just look at her for a second too long.

“Probably,” I finally say.

I think about her words. Yes, moving around is what I knew when I was younger. The only steady things in my life were my grandparents and the farm.

But living in hotels is a practical thing now. Having an apartment I rarely spend time in, that never felt like home, was a waste of money.

The oven timer beeps. I pull out the broccoli, plate it with the chicken, and slide the dish across the island before grabbing a fork from the drawer on the left.

That’s one thing I’ll miss when I’m back living in a hotel: being able to cook for myself.