I stood at the kitchen sink, scrubbing delicately at the dishes when I heard Sarah’s voice from the living room.
“Max, can you come here for a second?”
I turned off the faucet, placed the unfinished glass back down in the sink, dried my hands, and ventured into the other room to meet Sarah.
“What is it, baby?” I asked, nudging our cat, Oreo over—to her displeasure—so that I could sit next to Sarah on the couch.
“First of all,” she said with a look mixed of bewilderment and satisfaction, “you heard me!”
I thought about this for a second, cocked my head to the side and grinned. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
“You heard me, Max. How awesome is that?”
“I know, it’s very cool,” the excitement and realization that my life was coming back began to hit me. I internalized the idea and continued on.
“I guess I’m really progressing, huh?”
“I can’t believe it,” she said. “You’ve come so far. I’m proud of you.”
Sarah leaned in and wrapped her arms around me. I latched on to her. Together, we sat on the couch in an embrace that meant times were changing; that meant whatever else was going on could wait. I don’t even remember what it was she wanted to tell me. And it doesn’t matter. Moments like this overshadow the small details of daily life and open up my soul to just a little more hope.