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Over the years, the couch in Amanda Rollins’s apartment showed little wear, but somehow felt smaller and smaller with each passing year. First, it was the addition of Frannie that made scary movie nights a little more comforting. Then, the couch was replaced—Kim had sold the first. The delivery process had put Amanda through the wringer; it was on backorder, then it was sent to the wrong apartment… a call from the furniture store was enough to give Amanda a headache. The replacement was the same model and color, and when it arrived, Amanda collapsed into it with a long-held sigh, her body sinking into the cushions, and Frannie trotted over to lay at her feet. She’d had little other than hard kitchen chairs to attempt to relax in after work; the couch was the most comfort she’d been afforded in ages.
Next, it was baby Jesse who would lay on the cushion opposite of Amanda, either curled up with Frannie to watch public broadcasting cartoons or listening to her mother read “Goodnight Moon” before bed. It was the piece of furniture Jesse pulled herself up on to take her first steps toward her mother’s waiting arms, and now it was her favorite thing to launch herself from to simulate Supergirl’s flight, much to her mother’s dismay. The ample number of throw blankets and pillows allowed for all kinds of adventures to be had on one piece of furniture—the couch became prime real estate for blanket forts, pirate ships, tall towers in faraway magical lands, or a sunning rock in a mermaid lagoon.
With the latest addition to the family, this was where they gathered together—a central spot in the apartment that they cozied up on every evening Amanda could manage to be home early. These were the nights Amanda treasured more than anything. A mother could rarely ask for anything more than the knowledge of where her girls were and that they were safe, happy, and well fed. Here, they would watch Jesse’s favorite movie of the week or attempt to fit everyone in the frame of a FaceTime call to grandmama. Sometimes, they even eschewed the kitchen table and elected to eat dinner on the couch, obscuring the coffee table with boxes of pizza and garlic knots with sippy cups and bottles for the girls and a glass of wine for Amanda. This was now her ideal Friday night—a far cry from the wilder days of her past, but she wouldn’t change it for a thing.
This time, it was Sunday, Amanda’s day off, and they had all managed to fall asleep to the quiet drone of the television after lunch. Amanda’s eyes opened slowly to the afternoon sun peeking out from behind the curtains. There they were, all together—Billie had fallen asleep on her chest; Frannie was snugly tucked into the corner of the cushion and the arm rest, and Jesse used the pup as a pillow. This was bliss—surrounded by her girls in a moment of tranquility. Times like this were rare in a house with two little girls and a dog, but against all odds, here it was. The soft snuffles of their breathing made Amanda’s heart melt in a three-part harmony, and she closed her eyes, savoring in the collective warmth and comfort of her little family around her—if she held her breath and concentrated, could she make time slow to a stop? It wasn’t long before she slipped back into sleep, cradled in the soft embrace of the couch.