Thirty-Four
“H
ere. Drink this.”
Dani hands me a glass of white wine filled to the brim. I’m lying on her sofa with a washcloth on my forehead that she soaked in ice water. My bare feet are propped up on a pillow. An open bag of Cool Ranch Doritos rests on my chest. I take the glass from her, lift my head, and guzzle half of it in one go.
Sitting on the other side of the room in a recliner, her father-in-law stares at me with an expression of extreme suspicion, as if I’m an IRS agent who’s here to auction off the house.
Apparently, he doesn’t remember me.
I wish I could borrow some of that.
Ignoring him, I hand the glass back to Dani. She sits on the wooden coffee table and puts the glass down beside her. Clasping her hands between her thighs, she says, “Let’s go over this again. Yo
