Maya

“Hey, can you pick me up at two?” I pin the telephone between my ear and shoulder as I count out my bank and put it in the register. “Edz didn’t come in. Her baby’s sick, and I don’t have another ride.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bart says. “Of course. I’ll be there.”

After our last fight, the aftermath progressed exactly like I predicted. He came home buzzed and relaxed, crawled into bed, and we cuddled it out. Things have almost gotten back to normal—or what our normal is, anyway—enough that I didn’t mind when he tried to pull me into the shower this morning. However, when we got into our bathroom, we discovered his dad had ripped out the sink and had started tearing away the tiles in our shower, our bathroom the next thing on his renovation list. How had we slept through that? And what time did he…