“I’m tired,” I tell her and roll over. My body aches, but it’s nothing like the soreness between my legs. “I can be tired.”

“You can be, but only if you went out last night,” she says, and I now hear sirens in the background.

“Jesus, where are you?” I ask her, peeking one eye open.

“I’m in the city. I had an OB/GYN appointment.” She laughs. “I’m not pregnant.”

“You know you can swallow, right?” I laugh and turn back to my side. “They like it better sometimes.”

“Do they? I’ll remember that. Now, do I come over, or do you want to meet me for lunch?”

“Is this a trick question?” I ask her as I try to stretch my muscles, pulling from everywhere. “Come here. I don’t want to get dressed. Oh, and bring breakfast.”

“It’s eleven,” she says again. “It’s almost lunchtime.”

“Karrie, I’ve been up for four minutes. Get coffee and some croissants, pretty please, mon amie préféré.” My favorite friend.

“Already on it,” she says, and then I hear a car door close. “Be there in ten.”

“D’accord,” I say. I toss my phone to the side and linger on the bed for a couple of minutes before getting up and walking to the bathroom. I’m washing my face when I hear heels clicking across the floor, coming closer and closer.

“Did you just get up?” she asks me, and I look at her while I wash my face and apply my cream. “And are those fingertip bruises?” she asks, coming closer. I look down at myself. I haven’t gotten dressed yet, so I’m naked.

“Where?” I ask. When I look over my shoulder, I see what looks like a fingerprint bruise right above my ass.

“Right there,” Karrie says, pressing on it and making it hurt.

“Ouch,” I tell her, pushing her away and grabbing my kimono hanging behind the door. “That hurt.”

“The question is, how did it get there?” She folds her arms over her chest.

“I can’t answer these questions without coffee and a mimosa,” I tell her. Walking away from her, I’m dreading what I’m going to tell her, knowing she’ll see it for something more than it is. Which is nothing.

I walk to the kitchen to grab the tray of coffee and open the pink box right next to it to look at the buttery croissants placed perfectly so as not to be squished. I take one out and bite the tip off and swallow it down with a sip of my café latte. “Almost like home.”