E.S.’s mother’s birthday was delightful. It was just her, her husband, E.S., me, and my dog A.; after we took A. on a long and undoubtedly baffling walk through the woods behind the house, we all piled in the car and went to a steakhouse for lunch, where I had something called a chocolate bomb for dessert. It was delicious.
In other news, I’ve lost count of the number of times over the past week that I’ve almost told E.S. I loved him but luckily managed to stop myself in time.