The melancholy settles in

She wishes she had picked the underwear up. He is probably used to it. But still.

‘Do you want normal tea or would you prefer herbal?’ she asks. It is a household joke made before she can think.

‘I’m not usually too fussy,’ he says. His voice is soft and leaves a trail across her soul. His hair is blonde and he leaves the tap running as he walks back and forth to his truck and he wears boots which look like they have never been cleaned.

She will joke about him at dinner parties in months to come and say he’s the kind of boy would make any mother proud. She will use her own mother’s inflections when she speaks and two of her friends will know exactly what she means.