My Parents Skipped Christmas at .s.My New House for My Sister, Then Our Neighbor Revealed What They Didn’t Know
The first house I ever designed, I designed on a fogged car window when I was nine years old.
Not on paper. Not with tools. With one finger on the glass, tracing the outline of the thing I could see in my head, a house with large windows and a fireplace and rooms that felt like they had been thought about by someone who cared what it felt like to be inside them.
The fog evaporated almost immediately.
I drew it again.
Three times, maybe four, on the same window, watching it disappear each time, drawing it again.
My mother turned from the front seat and said: stop drawing on the window, Miranda.
I said: okay.
I stopped drawing on the window.
I kept the house in my head.
