Savannah and I enjoy an evening like we often shared in high school. We sleep on the living room floor, having enjoyed pizza, breadsticks, and copious amounts of chocolate chip cookie dough before baking cookies and watching several movies.

Sounds of Savannah moving around the house wake me the next morning. “What should we have for breakfast?” she asks from the kitchen, her elbows leaning on the countertop.

I bite my lower lip, my eyes looking to the ceiling as I attempt ...