Excalcifate

You're trying not to push her too hard. In some ways Amber has experienced more in her first twelve years than you did in your first twenty. There's no question in your mind that taking her in is the right thing to do. Still, you wish she would give you some indication of what she's feeling.

Amber came into your house three days ago. You asked if she liked her room. It was pretty plain, but you suggest that, when she's up to it, you two could shop for decorations. She shrugged and said nothing. That was fine.

The first breakfasts, lunches and dinners were uneventful. You'd open the door for small talk and receive shrugs and nods. Amber clears the table and washes her dishes without being asked. You thank her, and she nods. This is fine.

You try to check your expectations. She'll adjust at her own pace. No rush. In the meantime, you spend the evening curled up on the sofa watching primetime television on low volume with the captions on.

Then in the corner of your eye you see Amber enter the living room. She crosses in front of the TV, bowing her head as if to say "pardon me", then plants herself in the La-Z-Boy recliner. She's occupied with her phone.

"Can you turn it up?" she asks.

"Yeah, sure." You do. Then you take a breath. "Want me to change the channel or anything?"

"Nah, this is fine," punctuated by a brief, small smile.