My room wasn't the same. It was clean. My mother had scrubbed in here too. The scent of cleansers hung heavily in the air, hurting my eyes. The air was close and thick with disuse. "Oof, open a window please," I gagged to Andy. He had followed me upstairs as soon as we finished dinner. Both of us escaping as soon as we could. That hadn't changed. The smell was making me nauseous. Or maybe it was something else. Andy opened the window over my bed so quickly the hinges shrieked in protest. He was angry. "Hey," I muttered. "Sorry." He didn't sound sorry. His back was to me, broad, mannish shoulders hunched tightly as he knelt on my tiny bed. He looked ridiculously overgrown for this tiny house. I tried for humor. "So, that went well." He sat heavily on my old canopy bed. The springs squeaked as he bounced his leg rapidly, a nervous habit that had always irritated me. Now it made me smile fondly. "Well it's nice to have you back, if only to have someone else in the doghouse for a moment," he sighed.
