“I worry about you, Celine,” she says in a soft-tone that belies her normal bubby exuberance. “Why are you worried about me?” I ask, stepping onto the elevator. She eyes me with a look that says are you seriously asking me that right now? “Oh, please, you talk to a cat who you’re in a constant love-hate relationship with and won’t glance up long enough from your reports to see the attention you get from men.”
