Her cereal bowl soaking in the sink. Her second cup of coffee growing cold on the counter. Talking on the phone. “Oh my God!” Patsy exclaimed. “I’m coming right over!” “No, no, I’m fine, Pats. And you’ll be late for work.” “Saturday mornings are strictly optional, and you should go to the doctor! What if you’re concussed, or something?” “I’m not concussed, just colorful. And I’d be ashamed to go to the doctor, because I was three drinks over the limit. At least three. The only sensible thing I did all night was call a limo to bring me home.” “You’re sure your nose isn’t broken?” “Positive.” Well . . . almost positive. “Is Fritzy all right?” Tess burst into perfectly genuine laughter. “I go downstairs half-shot in the middle of the night because the smoke detector’s beeping, trip over the cat and almost kill myself, and your sympathies are with the cat. Nice.” “Honey, no—” “I’m just teasing,” Tess said. “Go on to work and stop worrying.
