The First Apartment

My parents’ first apartment in Providence had heat that worked only when it felt like it.

They slept with socks on, kept towels under the windows, and saved every grocery receipt in an envelope because they were afraid to be surprised by money. My father worked at a warehouse. My mother cleaned rooms at a hotel near the airport.

I used to be embarrassed by how little we had. Now I think about how much they carried without making us feel poor.

Rhode Island was small enough that every place felt close, but big enough for our family to begin again.