Page 639 of End Game

“Thank you.”

“Tell Greg I believe in him.”

“I absolutely will not.”

From the couch, Griffin says, “Can somebody hand me the level?”

Ronan looks at the collection of tools in front of Griffin. “It is six inches from your left hand.”

Griffin looks down and grabs it.

Dex immediately points. “Hero college couldn't teach you that, apparently.”

“Paramedic school.”

“Whatever. Hero college.”

Griffin throws a drywall anchor at him.

Dex catches it. “See? Reflexes.”

Micah takes it out of his hand and gives it back to Griffin. “Stop encouraging him.”

“I didn't.”

“You exist near him. That's enough.”

I laugh and close my laptop before Greg can create another comment.

Maybe fifteen minutes.

I can take fifteen minutes.

The client is not going anywhere.

Nobody is dying.

Dex is arguing with an internationally successful musician from our dining room like they're two assholes trying to finish a garage-band demo.

Micah is chopping vegetables in the kitchen.

Ronan has apparently abandoned whatever he was doing to explain to Griffin that the shelf brackets are not equidistant.

Griffin is telling him nobody will notice.

Ronan says, “I will.”

Of course he will.

My phone lights up again, but this time it's a calendar notification.

I expect a client deadline.

Instead:

9 months married

I stare at it.