It’s been two weeks now, and I guess you could say we’ve done an alright job of settling in. We’ve kept to ourselves, mostly; dad and I. We haven’t really made friends yet. I mean, we’ve been civil to people we’ve encountered, of course, but none of them have really become our friends, as such; we’re more acquaintances, if anything.
We’re doing okay, though. It’s kind of nice that no one here knows who we are, because that means they don’t know what happened. It’s nice not to have people acting like they know what we’ve been through. It’s nice that for once, people aren’t making a big deal about us just to make it seem like they actually care. It’s nice to be able to rely on each other now, and do things for ourselves, instead of constantly having people in our pockets all the time.
I just wish our house felt like a home. Even with the furniture all out, and the cupboards and drawers and the fridge all full, and all our other electronics set up, and dad’s workshop set up and the car parked in the garage, the house feels empty. Even with the TV or the radio on or with dad and I talking to each other, the house is quiet.
Dad came up to my room, then; unintentionally interrupting my train of thought. Apparently we have visitors.
I followed him down stairs, actually not sure how I felt about meeting more new people. I’ve managed alright with it until now, I suppose; I mean, everyone here seems nice enough. This time it felt different somehow, though. Not a bad different, really, but different enough.