Brendan has gone to spend the weekend with his dad, and thence back to Iowa.
It's a different kind of quiet from the kind I get when he's here, but asleep. All that's left is an unmade bed, an empty fridge, and toothpaste spit spots on the bathroom mirror.
The next time I see him will be at the end of May, when he will no doubt show up with several bags of unwashed clothes. The next time I see him, he will have completed his Freshman year. The next time I see him, he will be nineteen.
I appreciate his dad and stepmom flying him down here for breaks, because I can barely afford to send him an occasional box of Girl Scout cookies, let alone bring him home.