I raise my arms, stretch them over my head, and stand up, grasping my phone from the table. Eight forty a.m. I listen to the quiet of my apartment. She’s still asleep, and I don’t want to wake her up. Not until breakfast is ready. Maybe I should just admit to myself I’d do anything to get her to stay longer? To persuade her to spend the day with me? I’ve never been as whipped as I am right now. It’s ridiculous.
