I laugh because the specs on this thing are so beyond anything he needs. “Uh, you can have the serving platter. This baby’s mine.”
He scoffs but I ignore it. This is Alvin being Alvin after dinner with my parents. He’s tired. Being an accountant is mentally exhausting and I understand. He doesn’t love his job—although he should’ve figured that out during college—and it’s hard for him to understand that I really do love mine.
I get ready for bed, thinking about the laptop the whole time as I brush my teeth, wash my face. I figure I’ll wait until Alvin falls asleep--it never takes long before he’s snoring, mouth wide open—and then sneak out into the living room to play with my new computer some more.
But when the lights go out, Alvin doesn’t go out with them. I feel his hand on my hip, hi
