Corey sent a huge flower basket this morning by way of apology for his bullheadishness. Looking back I was still ladylike and didn't stoop to his level as much as I probably could have, probably saved only because I am usually loathe to interrupt once the boys get going. I called to thank him right away, I mean this basket could barely fit through the door. I thought we would have to open both. It's got silk butterflies pinned everywhere and has roses just spilling out of it. I've never seen anything so lovely.
The note said,
Mrs. K. I am an ass but the observations hold true. I still love you as you made me famous and I could retire at 40. Don't wreck my friends and we'll call it even if you promise to visit me in the home when I'm 90 and maybe then concede to give me a spongebath.
Love,
Corey.
PS. Loch you love me bitch admit it.
I don't know how he got the flower shop to write all that but money can buy the most interesting things.
Really, you deserve it. You have put up with a lot.
And you, not living here, don't know the half of it.
Sorry, Bridge.
Apologies like this are accepted! I can be bought with flowers.
Good to know.
Come for dinner Saturday. Be on your best. It will be cheaper.
Noted. I'll bring potato salad.
No, just bring you.
Okay.
***
Sam fell asleep last night with every window open downstairs and the heat from the rest of the house sucked down the steps and outside. I went down in five layers to trace the source of the freezing cold and it was like Zathura when I opened the door only instead of seeing outer space it was Hoth. I called out to him and immediately went around closing doors and windows and telling him he really had to learn to batten down the hatches at night because this was one habit of Jake's he didn't need to fall into, especially living at ground level and then I made it to the bedroom door and he's-
Oops.
Still sleeping.
Buck naked. Face up. Half on the bed. Half not except that something is wrong because Sam isn't messy or forgetful or a free sleeper like this and I grab a blanket from the couch in the living room and go back and throw it over him and sit down and yell his name in his face and he stirs so slowly for a brief moment I think he's dead and I lose my mind.
Literally lose it. As in full and utter breakdown right there. Fireworks and demolition from the top of my head to the bottom of my heart and he opens his eyes and it takes a lot of work and then I realize where I've seen that kind of whiskey effort to get out of a blackout before.
Oh, Sam. I thought you were dead but you're just stupid.
