So, I told my wife I needed to do some scanning tonight so I could mail back my galleys tomorrow. Fine, fine, she answered. We had dinner and the boy made me play the Lego Indiana Jones levels he created.
After that, they started putting on their jackets.
“We’re going to the pub on the corner to watch the Olympics.”
“What? You’re leaving?”
“I’m having a milkshake!”
“Well, I don’t know if they have milkshakes there–”
“Mom, they do!”
“But we’re going to watch the opening ceremonies. I don’t know how long we’ll stay.”
They put on their jackets. The boy refused–three times–to change from his shorts into long pants. My wife shrugged, apologized, and said “This will give you a chance to work.” Then they left.
So I’m sitting here in this empty apartment. It’s quiet. Jesus, it’s never quiet around here. I should be relaxing and enjoying the solitude. I love solitude. But the truth is that I already miss them.