The beautiful part was that everything else was completely sized to us. I didn’t need a step stool to brush my teeth in the mirror, or go to the bathroom. Climbing into bed didn’t involve literal climbing. When I sat in a chair my feet touched the floor. And glory upon glories, there was the off chance that I might bump the top of my head on something. It was very livable by Little standards. It was also a major fire hazard. One spark and all of that lovingly made custom wood furniture could go up in flames. Such is Little life.

“Get comfortable,” Cassie’s mom said. “Then we’ll talk about plans.”

Two sets of footsteps came down the stairs. “Cassie! Clark!”

“MICHELLE!” Cassie let go of her suitcase and for the briefest moment she was a twelve-year old as she ran up, screamed and hugged her younger sister. Michelle screamed and hugged right back. That was their thing, apparently. Michelle’s husband, Bruce came down the stairs carrying their eighteen month old with him.

We exchanged nods. We’d seen this all before. “Sup, Clark?” He sat the toddler down.

“Hey, Bruce.” We shook hands and pulled each other in for a half-hug.