40

I am a little more alert than yesterday now anyway. Sleep has helped, so has being roughed up and I don’t feel so distraught today. In fact, I feel like yesterday was just one massive dream and the effects are yet to catch up. I trip on my slipper as I maneuver the bright room, table already laid for breakfast, and my mother sat in a robe, bleary-eyed and chipper is gazing at us fondly. Leila has obviously ripped us both out of bed, seeing as it is barely seven a.m.

“She threw me on the floor and threatened to break my nose.” I immediately point out as she sits at one end of the table, grabbing a croissant and jam as she does so. I know my dad is probably already up and showering for work and we won’t be seeing him anytime soon. He takes breakfast with him on the commute to his offices, about a thirty-minute drive away. Not that he needs to work, his company runs itself, and we are hardly poor.

“Leila … Don’t be harsh on your