But I have to say in the last six months after all us moving in together, nothing bonded me and Simon and I more than snarky banter. ?Get off Simon. I don’t have time for this.? I upended the frying pan into the dish on the counter and rushed back into the bedroom to check if my hair straightner had warmed up. Camren, my boyfriend, was still in bed. We had been working opposite shifts which meant we hardly got to see each other. Whenever I complained about that within earshot of Simon, Simon always made it a point to say that if I just squinted a little bit I could pretend Simon was Camren. Which wasn’t entirely untrue. Besides certain strikingly different facial features, both were a little over 6’2, black, with these arms that you just wanted to do chin ups off of. Or of course, let yourself get swallowed into. But despite that, Camren was a serial monogamist and Simon, was in the Guinness Book of World Lechers. When I got home that evening around 5, Simon hadn’t come home yet. ’ Dean reported on his phone conversations with his Washington headquarters. Cheryl came down the stairs, her hair freshly washed and her face sparkling clean. She said nothing, but took a cup of coffee and joined them at the table. She stared into the cup as if it would answer some deep question for her– but it did not. There was a long silence– no one knew what to say. The innkeepers and Dean each would have blushed and confessed to being something of an expert on coping with bad news by their stage in life, but none of them knew what to say to this young woman. Dean, in particular, who had spoken with men about life and death issues, and who thought that he knew how to speak with women, suddenly felt terribly shallow. On some other occasion, he thought, they would have begun chatting about silly things, and found themselves linking deeper and deeper with each other, feeling themselves opening to each other, and then, as nature intended, being carried on waves of pent-up energy.
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