The shades are still drawn, the room dark, lit only by the TV, which is tuned to QVC. Rosie must’ve been up in the middle of the night again. He’d like to watch the news, but the remote is on the ironing board, and Joe can’t motivate out of his seat to fetch it. Two women with high, nasal voices are yammering on and on about the miracle of furniture coasters. Joe hasn’t moved a piece of furniture in this house since getting rid of the cribs a million years ago, but the ladies win him over. This innovation is pure genius. And it’s only $19.95. He’s searching his pockets for his phone when Katie walks in. She mumbles a sleepy hello and plops herself onto the couch. She’s wearing her typical uniform of black yoga pants, UGGs, and a hoodie, but something about her is different. Her face is clean. Joe can’t remember the last time he saw his little girl without makeup on, especially around her eyes. She wouldn’t agree, but Joe thinks she looks better without it.
