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Finn:

I’m at the OFFICE.

Fox:

Sean is a good man who is very much in love and has excellent taste in partners.

I laugh out loud. Emmett looks over again. I pretend to cough.

Ten minutes later, there’s another photo. This time my houseplant. The one on the windowsill in the living room, which I have been slowly murdering since August. Its leaves are yellow. One of them has fallen off and is now next to the pot. Fox has propped the fallen leaf against the base like it’s evidence at a crime scene.

Fox:

This is a cry for help.

Finn:

That plant is fine.

Fox:

That plant is DYING, Griffin.

Finn:

It’s dormant.

Fox:

It’s DECEASED.

Finn:

You can’t prove that.

Water it if you’re so worried.

Fox:

I already did. I fed it too. It might make it, but it’s touch-and-go.

I laugh so hard I have to turn away from Emmett’s line of sight.

By eleven-thirty, I’ve received six more texts, three photos, and one voice memo of Fox reading the ingredients list from a seriously-out-of-date jar of pickles I forgot I owned in a deeply serious tone. I have accomplished very little of what I meant to accomplish this morning. My cheeks are actually starting to hurt from smiling.

At midday, I make a decision.

“Emmett, I’m going to work from home this afternoon. Something came up.”

“Sure. Everything okay?”

“Fine. I just—” I gesture vaguely at my laptop. “Need fewer distractions.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What.”

“Nothing, boss. I said nothing. Have a productive afternoon.”