She doesn’t strike me as the wake-up-early kind of girl. She’s been yawning most of the morning while we load things into my car and then out of my car, upstairs, and to her new room. “Why don’t you rest for a while? I’m off today, and was just planning on taking Leah to the park. You can get settled in your room—maybe take a nap?” I suggest. Paige flops on her new bed, bouncing on it a few times, testing the softness. I can tell she’s disappointed, but she’s biting her lip, looking off to the side, like she’s searching for a way to show she’s grateful. “It’s a really crappy mattress, I know,” I say for her. “No, it’s okay. I’ll get a mattress pad or something…” she says, standing and pushing down on it a few times. That mattress is probably two decades old. I’d switch mine with hers, but I’m pretty sure mine is even worse. The only one with a good mattress in this house is Leah, and hers is built for a child.
