Oliver’s face comes flush with mine. His head is the only part of his body I can see. We make eye contact, but I quickly close my eyes. “It’s after six,” he says, then reaches his arms up, grabs the white comforter, wedges his foot between the box spring and mattress, and heaves himself up. He climbs over me, poking a knee in my side, an elbow into my face, and finds his place between Robert and me. He tries to spoon me, and his cold toes land on my thighs, searching for warmth under my legs. I try to find my way back to my sleepy state, but I can’t. My brain registers what’s different in the world today, like waking on the first morning after someone has died. I turn my head and see Robert sleeping. I want to crawl into his deep slumber with him, go wherever he is. A low-grade pain returns to my stomach. “Let’s go downstairs,” I say to Oliver. He follows me out of bed. We pass the bedroom where Izzy is still asleep. I peek in, my ritual. Downstairs we do normal morning things.
