“Where did he go?”
“I don’t know,” Alan said. “Out.”
“Is this what your family is like?”
“Yeah,” Alan said. “This is what they’re like.”
“Are you going to go out, too?”
“Yeah.”
“Fine,” she said. She was angry. She stomped out of the kitchen, and stepped on her own wing, tripping, going over on her face. “Tomorrow, you cut these tomorrow!” she said, and her wings flared open, knocking the light fixtures a-swing and tumbling piles of books. “Tomorrow!” she said.
“Good morning, Natalie,” he said. She was red-eyed and her face was puffy, and her hand shook so that the smoke from her cigarette rose in a nervous spiral.
“Andy,” she said, nodding.