"It's better. I'm secure enough to admit that."
"This is the best book club I've ever witnessed," Robin says, wiping his eyes. "I still haven't read the book but I'm emotionally compromised."
"Read the book, Robin."
"I'll read the book! I'm going to read the book! Stop bullying me about the book!"
The argument dissolves into the usual chaos. Robin defending his right to participate in book club without reading, Knox making more coffee, Toby scribbling notes for next week's pick. Devin finishes his tea and he looks settled. Not performing settled. Not managing the room. Actually settled, in his skin, in his stool, in the space these people have made for him.
After book club, I find Devin in the garage. He's looking at the blueprints again. He's been doing this, coming back to them, running his hands over the paper. Not obsessively. The way you return to a passage in a book that you're not done thinking about.
"You were good in there," I say.
"In book club?"
"You argued. You pushed back. You held your ground against Toby, who reads everything and has opinions about it all."
"He was wrong."
"He was making a valid interpretive point that differed from yours."
"That's what wrong looks like when you're polite about it." He grins. "I've never done that before."
"Argued about a book?"
"Argued about anything. In front of people. Out loud." He's quiet for a moment. "In foster care, you don't argue. You agree. You adapt. You figure out what the house rules are and you follow them because disagreement gets you noticed and noticed gets you moved. I've never been in a room where I could say 'you're wrong' and know I'd still be there tomorrow."
"You'll be here tomorrow."
"I know." He touches the blueprint. The bookshelves. The reading nook. "I'm starting to know."
* * *
That night, Devin sits on the bed and texts Tyler.
I don't ask to see the conversation. I give him space. Read in the corner chair while he types and reads and types. But I can see his face, and his face tells me the conversation is important.
"Tyler wants to know if I'm okay," Devin says after a while.
"Are you?"
"Yeah. I think I actually am." He keeps typing. "He says Melissa felt bad about the cayenne thing. She wanted to apologize but she was too embarrassed."
"You did put two tablespoons of cayenne in her latte."
"She earned those tablespoons." He types. Reads. Smiles. "Brian's trying to get the policy changed. Zero tolerance with an exception for defensive intervention."
"Will it work?"
"Probably not. Policies exist to protect institutions, not people. But Brian's trying." He types something else. Reads the response. His face softens. "Tyler says he's proud of me. For staying here. For letting people help."
"Tyler's smart."
He finishes the conversation and sets his phone on the nightstand. Lies back on the bed with his hands behind his head, looking at the ceiling.
"Not long now," he says. "Until the apartment."
"Not long."