It's sweltering in the back room of our third floor apartment, my writing room, the farthest spot from our small window unit air conditioner. I've been eating ice pops and trying to concentrate on my work, but the thick heat pushes all inspiration and motivation from my brain and makes my wrists itchy and chafey against the edge of my laptop.
Stephen peeks through the open doorway. He says, "You don't even have the fan on."
I look at the fan sitting on the floor three feet from my chair. "Oh yeah."
As I go to turn the thing on, Stephen says, "What would you do without me?"
"I'd die," I say. "I'd die an embarrassing, embarrassing death."
gigi!
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