Over twenty four hours had gone by since Don Angelo called. I checked my timer frequently. Due to my hangover, we didn't leave the apartment yesterday. Scott took good care of me. He cooked for us, made sure I took painkillers and had plenty of fluids. Packed the dishwasher without me telling him to even though it was my turn.
We spent the afternoon going through his stacks of old photos of us, reminiscing over the last seven years. I needed the photos for the scrapbook I was making to show his mom. He didn't need to know that. We talked late into the night when I couldn't sleep. He massaged my back because he knew I was stressed. Waiting for news was hard, especially since there was nothing to do and no place to be.
That last part wasn't strictly true. Scott and I did have some place to
