Morning burst through the curtains in my apartment, shattering a very detailed dream I had been having about Vincent Gallo singing to me in a smokey night club.

I reached for my cell phone and my plaid bathrobe that I had stolen from my dad before leaving for college. I dialed Vicki’s number and shuffled my way into the kitchen to get some chocolate chip toaster waffles started.

“Mara?” The voice on the other line was cracked, as if it was straining to make a sound.

“Vick?” I said, unsure, “You hungover?” I walked into the living room and checked on the sleeping figure on the couch.

“No I am not hungover!” Vicki said loudly into my ear.

“Shh!” I warned, “You’ll wake up Ethan.”

“I…wait, who’s Ethan? I thought your cat was named Severin?” Vicki questioned.

“Severin ran away four months ago,” I said, as the waffles popped up happily in the toaster. I quickly shoved one into my mouth as I paced the kitchen.

“You had a guy over last night?” Vicki questioned.

“These are good waffles.”