Hey.
I'm coming. It's late. I need to get dinner started, I know. I was stalling maybe. I get overwhelmed and then I procrastinate.
No, I was going to tell you, we've got pizza downstairs.
Really?
It's Saturday night, and it's almost forty degrees. You're not cooking. Do you want to go down and eat in the kitchen or I can bring some up for us?
(Ruth is working and Henry's at a sleepover so it's not like we're willfully bowing out of family dinner or anything).
Maybe we could eat out front.
Or in the hammock. Take the whole pitcher of lemonade and a box of pizza and barricade ourselves in the hammock for the night.
Why don't we just take it to-
The camper-
The camper.
Yeah.
Yeah.
We smile at each other stupidly because suddenly it's 1982 and all we have in the world is a stupid pizza, some cold lemonade and each other and we're so happy we can't even stand it. He always could fix things. Better than anybody.
