“What’s the first thing you’re going to eat after the surgery?” I ask. “Isn’t that kind of torturous to talk about?” “It’ll be over soon anyway,” I say with a lightness in my voice. “You choose for me,” Orion says. It’s hard to think because at this point I would eat this dirty banister or a human foot. “You got to have some linguini, of course.” “No doubt, no doubt.” “Mashed potatoes drowned in gravy. Roasted carrots. Steamed spinach. Macaroni and cheese that’s baked to the point it’s burnt.” “I might have to break that up over a couple meals.” Third landing, third kiss.
