“It hasn’t been happening for six months,” I say irritably, picking up the pencils that I just knocked off my bedside table.
“I just want you to know,” Katie says in an infuriatingly reasonable tone, “so that when your legs give out or you pass out and you go to the doctor, and they ask, ‘How long has this been going on?’ you can say, ‘Oh, hey, this is what Katie was talking about when she said I was dropping things a lot lately.’”
Later, in the kitchen, the cat is peacefully gorging herself on a small plate of Friskies Turkey and Cheese Dinner when I open the freezer, pull out the ice cube tray and dump fresh ice cubes into the bucket.
Even though I don’t drop any, she still sprints from the room.
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