On the day after Christmas, I wake up at five AM, unable to go back to sleep. I roll out of bed, make myself a steaming cup of chai tea, and drink it by the kitchen table as I stare into the dark night, only sparsely lit by the occasional streetlamp. Huge snowflakes dance in the light cones and a snowplow rumbles somewhere in the distance. Everything else is still, as though everyone except me and the driver of the plow are still happily asleep.
I inhale the spiciness of the tea and take a careful sip so I won’t burn my mouth. I finger my phone, re-reading yesterday’s goodnight messages with Poe, trying to decide whether to text him now or not. He’ll be awake, getting ready for the gym. He never misses his six AM workout, not even on Christmas.
But I turn off the screen. I didn’t expect
