Willow brought home strawberries and made a shortcake. "Real whipped cream," Amber said.
"Of course." Willow reached into the refrigerator. "Trumpet flourish, please."
"Ta da, teedle-oop tee tooo," Amber obliged. "Champagne?"
"A modest vintage, as AhnRee would say. I celebrate. We celebrate."
"You got laid—that's obvious."
Willow poured two glasses. "Biology," she toasted.
"Fucking," Amber said. "Yumm."
"God," Willow said, licking her lips, "strawberries and champagne . . .
Truly, it was a revelation."
"It, Patrick?"
"Patrick, yes. The whole thing."