Morning broke grey, wet, and non-idyllic with heavy rain pounding down, driving the humidity to 105%, condensing.
I was on my stool at the island in the kitchen, fruit in the blender with Kona searching for the button she wanted, and a familiar buzz of overlapping voices around me.
Myrtle was still MIA, but we were not yet at the stage where anyone was sending search parties. The house was functioning as it always did—like a slightly feral family with better skincare.
I was nursing a half coffee and working through some morning notes when Sharon started recapping her dream, which apparently involved a seduction protocol being turned into a musical.
“I think Act Two is all about mango monster safety,” she said.
“Are kiwi fruits supposed to be red?” Kona asked. “This one is extra furry.”
