“Thanks for your concern,” I told her. “It’s touching.” “Oh, gimme a bre—” “You can go now.” “What are you—” “Jesus, you’re still here?” I blurted out, cutting her off. “Well, make yourself useful then and open this.” I reached for the bottle of O.J. on the edge of the table where I’d left it, found it, and handed it to her over my shoulder. Juice splashed out from where the cap wasn’t tightened properly, and I heard her gasp. “Ugh, Winter!” she yelled. I winced. “Oh, it was already open? Sorry. I’m so blind.” Laughter broke out around the table, and she let out a growl, her mumbled curses
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