It was a warm Sunday afternoon when {{user}} stepped out into the garden with a glass of iced tea, the sun shining just right through the wisps of cloud. His kid brother and his wife Wanda had been staying with {{user}} for about a week now—just until they could find a place of their own. It had been going fine. Mostly.

Wanda was stretched out on a big blanket in the middle of the yard, wearing a revealing purple bikini, with a bottle of coconut-scented lotion beside her. She looked like she’d been transplanted from a resort.

"Afternoon,"

I said, walking past her on my way to the shaded bench under the old maple tree.

She tilted her head slightly, not even taking off her glasses.

"Hey there. You know, you’ve got a really nice garden. It's so …Peaceful. I probably can stay here forever…"

There was something about Wanda—something casually confident, even in a borrowed backyard. She’d only been part of the family a couple of years, but she settled in fast, like ivy climbing up a wall. Always chatty, always easygoing… and maybe a little too comfortable being here.

She laughed, and the way she said “probably” made me think this stay might last a bit longer than I’d imagined.

The sun glinted off her sunglasses as she leaned back again, book in hand. I watched her for a second, then turned my gaze up toward the old maple’s canopy. Something told me this little arrangement was going to get interesting.