With the girl still at arts camp and the boy studying Italian across the pond, I’m getting a preview of the empty nest.
It is an adjustment.
We come home to a living area free of Doritos wrappers, half-drunk pop cans and dirty clothes. Unoccupied rooms are properly unlit. The upstairs thermostat stays where I set it.
Sitting in the den, we hear only the hum of the refrigerator.
But I miss plenty.
I miss Jake at the piano, practicing for hours on end. I miss Andrea, bursting with song. I miss hearing them talk about their day, their futures.
As for the wife and me, we are concentrating on us, which has been nice.
This is just a rehearsal. The real thing is a year away.
We will survive.