
My home (for the next few months, anyway) was decently finished, though sparsely furnished or decorated — I had a bed, dresser, a small dining table and couple of chairs, microwave, two-burner stove/oven combo, single basic kitchen sink with some cabinets, small couch, some rough but sturdy shelving on one wall, an old but serviceable recliner, and bathroom with sink, commode, and (small) shower. When she showed me the bathroom, Teresa didn't hesitate to tell me that if I ever wanted to take an actual bath, I was more than welcome to use the one upstairs
— then teasing me about being on my own to find someone to scrub my back.
The place wasn't a fancy hotel room, but it wasn't anywhere near as expensive, either; and I had the benefit of having what I thought of as "family" (my own parents had died in a car accident the winter after I started college) nearby. All in all, I was perfectly satisfied with it, and told Teresa so. She was visibly relieved at hearing that, and moved close to give me another hug before releasing me and saying "I'm glad you're okay with this. I know it's rough, but the rest of us hardly ever came down here, so there wasn't any reason before now for us to think about doing anything with it before. I expect you'll want to fix it up a little; I'm willing to split the cost of materials with you, and I know any or all of the girls would be happy to help."
