“So, Rebekah, what are you doing later?” Daniel asks me.
The clock on my phone reads 9:45pm. I squint at Daniel like he’s lost his mind. “What do you mean later?”
“Later tonight.”
I blink three times, slowly. I planned on scurrying home and brewing a fresh mug of chamomile. I planned on stretching out the tendonitis in my wrists and wishing the dog sweet dreams. I planned on tidying my shoes and checking the status of my teeth. I planned on saying my prayers.
This was about the point I realized: I am a 22-year-old grandma.
