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  67. 3:46 a.m.

At 3:55, she looks up at me, panting and says, “You got time for one more?”

“I guess we'll see,” I say, grinning.

:01

“Rise and shine.”

Lassie opens one eye. He has some gunk in the corner near his nose and I wipe it away with my thumb. He shakes his head, then rests it down on my chest.

“Come on, buddy, we have stuff to do.”

Meow.

“Ten more minutes? We’ve been asleep for twenty-three hours.” Well, I had. I couldn’t speak for Lassie; though I was nearly certain he was curled up on my chest the entire time.

I brush the cat off and stand up. The clock on the dresser screams that one minute of my day has already elapsed.

I pick up my phone off the bedside table and read Ingrid’s text. She won’t be able to stop by. She just wrapped up a homicide-suicide investigation and needs to catch up on some sleep. But she will see me tomorrow for sure. Smiley face.

Tomorrow is October 7th, Ingrid’s and my sixth-month anniversary.

Though I saw her two days earlier, it feels like I haven’t seen her in weeks. I am toying with the idea of asking her to move in with me. I made her a key a couple months back—which is one of the few things accomplishable at three in the morning—and she uses it when she stops over once or twice a week.

But two hours a week isn’t enough. I wanted her for all seven.

I pad to the kitchen and pull out the bowl of cereal Isabel prepared for me. I peel off the Saran Wrap and pour in the measured glass of milk. Not only does Isabel cook and clean, she also finds small ways to save me time: my toothbrush laid out with toothpaste on it, the microwave preset for three minutes and thirty seconds (the exact time needed to heat her famous enchiladas), Lassie’s food bowl filled and covered in the refrigerator, headphones and running shoes laid out next to the door, the NASDAQ and DOW closing numbers written on a sticky note next to the computer. The seconds she buys me would mean nothing to the average person, but to me, each second is the Mona Lisa.

I eat the cereal, a banana, and a peanut butter protein shake and watch four minutes of Game of Thrones. My dad turned me on to the series eight months earlier, and I was up to episode four of season two.

At 3:07 a.m., I check my stocks on E-Trade. I dump a couple thousand shares of a floundering pharmaceutical company and pick up an equal amount of corn futures—which is a huge gamble but has big upside potential.

There is a soft chime and I answer my father’s call on Skype.