Sloane rolls her eyes but with a smile on her face, and then she disappears into the living room.
I stay there, thinking about the things she said, about her mom being pregnant. When I try to picture the woman I saw at the barbecue with a protruded stomach, I end up seeing Sloane's face instead. Weird. They don't even look that much alike. Those are some of the things your brain does when you're exhausted.
I hear Sloane in the living room, moving around. She hums as she works, not a melody I recognize, just an off-key tune that makes me smile.
A few minutes later, she enters the bedroom and heads straight to the bathroom. The faucet runs. Cabinet doors creak open, then shut. The sound of her toothbrush buzzing fills the quiet. Water splashes. The lights go off. Then she's back in the r
