Otty: Nothing. No movement at all
Me: Are lights on?
Otty: Living room. Dining. Kitchen.
Me: Maybe he’s having a poker night or something.
Hannah: Our father?
Me: Well, go up and knock.
Otty: Absolutely not.
Hannah: Why not?
Otty sends a photo of herself. Under a bright yellow bathrobe,she is wearing a bathing suit and a too-short pair of jean shorts that were mine in ninth grade.
Me: Omg. My eyes. I will never be the same.
Hannah: We all know that washing and drying isnother talent.
I chuckle at theChicagoreference. It is by far Hannah’s favorite musical. I can’t help but wonder if the state of her marriage is to blame.
Otty: Now I have to pee.
Me: Pop a squat in the yard.
Otty: Shorts plus bathing suit squat would be a nightmare. Shit, it’s late. I’ve gotta go, anyway. Working brunch tomorrow.
Me: What’ll you wear to work?
Otty: I’ll wash something in the sink. Blow it dry.
Hannah: Welcome to adulthood
Otty: Really?
Hannah: No. What you are describing is the opposite of adulthood.
Otty: You’re an asshole. Tell her she’s an asshole, Rae.
Me: She’s telling the truth.
Otty: I hate you both. And I’m leaving. One of you bitches can spy if you want to know who the mystery car belongs to.
Hannah: There are children sleeping in my house. I can’t.
Otty: Where’s Schaffer?
Hannah: Minneapolis? Memphis? Don’t remember.
Otty: It’s Friday.
I race over to a different thread and text Otty directly.
Me: Stop it. Leave her alone about Schaffer right now. It’s late. She’s on her own. She doesn’t need us reminding her that her husband’s never home.
Otty: You’re so annoying
