My phone starts ringing on my lap as Lyla starts her third song. Game time. I pick it up with the frazzled, busy attitude of one hating everything about this moment. “What?” I say into the receiver, loudly. “I’m busy.” Somewhere on the opposite side of the room, Lyla’s husband mumbles something into his phone. It’s so loud that I can’t hear what he’s saying. But that doesn’t matter. We’ve done this so many times, I know the lines. “Well, I don’t care what Jerry wants. I’m occupied.” I pause for roughly four beats and look at Lyla critically. “I’m not sure, but I may be onto a new lead.”
STOP 😭✋
