“Grace.” It’s a very stern, serious-sounding “Grace,” so I reply in kind. “Yes, Hudson?” “Why are you picking a fight with me about my dimple?” “Honestly?” I shrug. “I have no idea.” “That’s what I figured.” He sighs again. “Can I go to bed now, then?” “I suppose,” I answer airily. “As long as you’re not concerned about the dent in your face.” “Grace.” “Yes, Hudson?” This time I use my most angelic voice. “Nothing.” He shakes his head in resignation. “Good night.” “Good night.” Then, because I can’t help myself, I add, “You should probably sleep on the side that doesn’t have the dent.”
