Nick spent Friday night putting on a huge warehouse party with several of his friends. I was coming off a three-day migraine, so I missed it. I awoke from eight hours of sleep on Saturday morning around ten, the same time Nick got home and came into our bedroom to say hello.
“I’m going to get my tea and come to bed. Do you want anything from downstairs?” he asked.
“Maybe some orange juice,” I said. “Ooh, and a pecan twist from the bread box?”
“Wait,” he said. “I need to write this down.”
“Write what down? It’s just orange juice.”
“Hold on,” he said, scribbling. “Hold on hold on hold on.”
“You don’t have to get me orange juice. I can get it.”
He returned twenty minutes later.
“I thought you’d forgotten,” I said.
“I did,” he answered. “I was sitting on the couch, but then I dropped my note on the floor and remembered.”