Emme was not in a good mood when she woke up the next morning. She emerged from the shower wearing a hotel robe that didn’t look like it fit too well and her hair twisted up in a towel. A cloud of steam billowed out behind her like a personal army of fog. She barely spoke to me as we packed for the airport, and tossed a few pillows to the floor that’d angered her in some way. I figured she was hungover.
