“Happy birthday, Liv. We’re officially thirty-nine.” She exhaled loudly for drama’s sake. “I still feel pretty young. How about you?” “It’s hard to say.” I slid my cigar box back behind the bush. “I’m not sure ‘young’ is the right word.” Behind me, our hall light clicked off. Already, a dull ache pulsed in my head from the wine, just another perk of aging. “For the moment, I mostly feel like I need to go to bed.”
