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Annie’s arm tightened around me.
It buzzed again.
She opened one eye.
“No.”
“Good morning.”
“No morning.”
“It’s already happening.”
A third buzz.
Annie buried her face against my shoulder.
“I don’t live here anymore.”
“Where do you live?”
“In this bed.”
“With the fork?”
She lifted her head.
“What fork?”
I held it up.
Annie stared at it.
“That could belong to anyone.”
“It was beneath my head.”
“Then technically it was yours.”
“You brought pie into the bed.”
“You ate the pie.”
“I’m not denying my role.”
She took the fork and placed it on the nightstand with great dignity.
“Problem solved.”
“Very mature.”
“I’ve had coffee.”
“You haven’t moved.”
“I’ve had the memory of coffee.”
The phone buzzed again.
