I can’t tell anyone that home, for me, is no longer a place. It’s the sound of Hayes’s laugh, and the sight of him brushing his hair out of his eyes, or reluctantly drinking a smoothie he hates solely because I made it for him. It’s the way he struggles not to smile when I imitate his accent, his singular willingness to always say the worst possible thing. Home is Hayes, and I am going to miss him every minute of the day for a long, long time.
