“Hello.”
“Darling, is that you up there? I hear the pitter-patter of tiny footsteps.”
I laugh, but it’s short, mirthless. I’m eyeing the little mound of snow on my coffee table, hating this distraction. “Yes, those are mine.”
“Good. I didn’t want to think it was some burglar or something.” Gabe laughs. “Unless he was hot.”
“Nope. No burglar, hot or otherwise.”
There’s a moment of silence that I use to wander over to the TV stand and pop Stop! In the Name of Sexinto the DVD player. I won’t switch it on until I’m off the phone.
Finally, Gabe asks, “So what brings us home today? Sick? Again?”