KiKi

“Roll the credits,” I cheer, clapping at the end of our movie.

John stretches his arms above his head on the sofa beside me. “Want anything from the kitchen?” he asks, preparing to stand.

Does that mean he’s leaving? Or is he getting himself a drink to stay? I’m not ready for him to leave. I’m never ready for him to leave.

I rise, following him into my kitchen. He’s placing a check mark beside this movie and ready to put my rating beside ...