“‘How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.’”—drawn-out silence disturbed only by the muted sounds of a barking dog—“But I don’t love thee freely, do I?”—harsh, barking laughter—“f**k homophobic fathers all the way to hell.”—three wet hiccups in rapid succession followed by slurred words—“s**t. Sorry. I’m drunk. Druuu-uuu-uuunk. Bill dragged me to the King’s Arms tonight and I saw someone that reminded me of you, so I drank too much. But he was too tall, taller’n me and his hair was a stripey, dishwater blond and not golden. And not curly enough. But he moved like you. Like…he flailed his arms and kicked his legs instead of actual dancing. Only you would call that dancing.
“But when I saw him properly, his eyes were some weird-ass brown-ish color and they looked all wrong. If I had talen
