Starting in on the closet

You set down the chamomile tea—still half-full, honey-sweet—and turn to Colette. "Thank you so much for the bread. Seriously, I'm going to be thinking about that for days."

Colette waves you off with a flour-dusted hand. "You come back anytime you want some. Janelle knows where the spare key is." She shoots her daughter a look that's equal parts maternal pride and mischief. "Bring this one around more often."

"Mom." Janelle grabs your wrist again—she does this a lot, you notice, physical contact as punctuation—and tugs you toward the front door. "We have a closet to save."

Priya stands on the porch in that oversized charcoal blazer, tank top underneath, black bob sharp as a blade. Beside her, Wren clutches a Canon camera in one hand and a portable speaker in the other, red hair windblown, freckled face already focused through the viewfinder.

"Riley!" Priya steps forward and wraps you in a hug—arms around your shoulders, chin briefly resting against your collarbone. She smells like coffee and something cedar. "How was the ride? Did the wind destroy your hair?"

Before you can answer, Wren sets down the speaker and hugs you too—lighter, quicker, but genuine. Her cardigan is soft against your arms. "Hi. I brought the speaker. And hangers. And my camera. I'm documenting everything."

Then Janelle joins, and for a moment all four of you are tangled in a group embrace, laughing, someone's elbow in someone's side. Priya's hand rests on your lower back. Janelle's braids brush your shoulder. Wren's camera dangles from its strap between bodies.

When was the last time someone touched you before all this?

The answer surfaces with uncomfortable clarity. Your roommate sophomore year—a fist bump after turning in a paper. Before that, maybe your mom at Thanksgiving, a stiff half-hug that ended too quickly. Months between points of contact. Sometimes longer.

And now three girls you've known for less than a week are holding you like it's the most natural thing in the world. Because for them, it is.

This is what I was missing. Not just the clothes, not just the name—this.

The hug dissolves naturally. Priya adjusts her blazer. Wren picks up her camera. Janelle leads the way upstairs, chattering about the disaster zone awaiting.

Janelle's bedroom is at the end of a narrow hallway lined with family photos. The closet is a walk-in, and when she throws open the bi-fold doors, you understand the problem immediately.

It's a war zone. Clothes spill from wire hangers in tangled clumps. A pile of denim sits on the floor like a collapsed tent. Shoes are stacked in precarious towers. Three dry-cleaning bags hang untouched, their contents mystery. A single lonely dress—emerald green, still tagged—hangs in the back corner like a hostage.

"Don't judge me," Janelle says, crossing her arms.

"I'm not judging. I'm assessing." You step inside, running your hand along the rod. The hangers are a mismatched collection—wire, plastic, velvet, wooden. No organization principle whatsoever. "Okay. First things first—we need to empty everything out. Wren, get your 'before' shots now."

Wren is already clicking. "Got it. The chaos is actually photogenic in a sad way."

Priya leans against the doorframe, arms folded. "Strategy?"

You pull a crumpled blouse from the pile and hold it up. It's a nice piece—coral silk, probably expensive—but it's wrinkled beyond recognition and paired on the same hanger with a graphic tee. "We sort into piles: keep, donate, repair, and 'what even is this.' Then we rebuild by category—tops, bottoms, dresses, outerwear. Then we figure out what's missing."

"She's done this before," Priya murmurs to Janelle, impressed.

"I've watched a lot of YouTube," you say, which is technically true.

Janelle starts pulling armfuls of clothes from the rod. Priya produces trash bags from somewhere. Wren photographs every stage, narrating quietly to herself: "Before shot three—denim avalanche..."

Within fifteen minutes, Janelle's bed is buried under a mountain of fabric, and the empty closet looks twice as large as it did before.