Her New Dot

Lily has packed her life into cardboard boxes, plastic bins, and the back of her car: folded shirts, shoes, pans, cups, plates, bags of dog food for Willow, and bottles of bathroom lotion. Her entire world, sorted and stacked.

Today is moving day. She’s taking a new apartment in a building, a fresh start for her, a roommate, and Willow.

She first moved out of our house last December into a rental in Meridian. It was a worn-down place shared with three other girls: tired carpets, grime around the baseboards, a kitchen that never quite got clean. But it was hers. Her first real address on Macon Place.

Most nights before falling asleep, I open Find My to check on my people. I’d watch for her little icon resting in the northwest corner of that house. Seeing that dot, I could picture her lying on her side in bed, screen glowing, singing her silly, customized songs to Willow.

She was alone out there. Not dating, keeping a small circle of friends. I’d look at that little circle with her face on it and say a silent prayer: Protect Lily. Watch over her. Help her find her way.

And the dot would just sit there in the dark, looking back at me.

She worked hard to earn this new place. The building was only recently finished. The drywall still smells like fresh paint, and the carpet is plush and untouched. She’s stepping into a bedroom with a walk-in closet, private storage, and a bathroom entirely her own. Nobody handed it to her. She wanted a better space, hunted it down, vetted a roommate, sat with the landlord, signed the lease, and delivered the cashier’s check.

“Can you help me move tonight, Dad? I work until six.”

“Of course,” I texted back. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

She sent back a smile emoji.

Tonight I’ll bring the whole crew: Sam, Kimi, and Grace. We’ll haul the bins, carry the furniture, and help her cross the threshold.

I’m looking forward to watching her dot settle into its new coordinates tonight.