“You have a softa?′ ‘Somewhere underneath all these boxes.’ ‘These boxes you won’t unpack.’ ‘I will now.’ Again, he gave his words time to settle in and sink to the bone. I listened to the cadence of his breath and stared at the nubby white ceiling. I will now. I will unpack for you, Vivian, because if New York is your home, it must be mine, too.”
