He finished at two fourteen.
I knew because I was still awake. Not reading. Not editing. Just sitting in the library chair in the dark with the lamp off and the city lights coming through the window and the quiet of the apartment around me and the particular awareness of someone waiting for something without knowing exactly what they are waiting for.
I heard him close the laptop.
Then silence.
Then his footsteps down the hall.
He appeared in the library doorway and stood there for a moment looking at me in the chair in the dark and neither of us said anything.
Then he came and sat on the floor beside my chair.
Not across from me. Beside me. His back against the chair legs, his legs stretched out in front of him, looking at the city through the window the way we had looked at things
