Clad in yoga pants and an ancient Ole Miss sweatshirt that was a dozen washings away from losing its collar, Norah sat curled on one end of Miranda’s sofa, a pint of General Tso’s chicken in her hands as the credits began to roll on Serendipity. They’d talked most of the way through the movie, catching up on things that hadn’t come up in their twice weekly phone conversations. More relaxed than she’d been in ages, Norah let her head fall back to the cushions. “Chinese food and chick flicks. You do know how to take care of me.”
“I am a medical professional.” Miranda polished off the last of her sweet and sour chicken.
“I miss this. I miss you. Chicago hasn’t been the same since you moved home.”
“Feeling a bit like the last southerner standing?”
“Like a zoo exhibit at times.” Norah grima
