I point to a photograph of somewhere I recognize; it’s the great hall in McKee’s library. The table looks familiar, because it’s the one we sit at when we go there to study. My laptop is open on the table next to hers; our jackets hang on the backs of two chairs. She blushes, tracing over the photograph. “I took it when you went to go call your sister.” I snort as the memory comes back to me. “She was afraid she accidentally ate a pot brownie.” “Did she?” “Honestly, I’m still not sure. Coop thinks she did.” I hold up the photograph. Seeing evidence of our time together makes me feel warm
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