Dammit, that allegorical poems English quiz was today. Crap. Michael knew he was probably fucked, but he found that stupid study guide in his locker and unwrinkled it, figuring he might as well cram before class.

When he slammed his locker shut, Isabel was standing there. Like right there, not looking happy. "Whoa," he said, startling a bit. "Hey."

She didn't even crack a smile. "Just admit it."

Oh god, was she pissed at him already? How was that possible? He hadn't even spoken three words to her. "Admit what?"

"I heard something this morning from a very reliable source."

"If that reliable source is named Tess . . . she's not reliable," he warned.

"Well, she heard it from someone else who actually is reliable."

"Meaning Kyle."

"But I'd rather hear it from you, so just confess."

He sighed, figuring he knew what this was about. But it'd be fun to mess around a little bit. "Alright, I'll admit it," he said. "I was recently voted Sexiest Man in America."

She gave him an impatient look. "Really, Michael?"

"Alright," he sighed, "you got me. It was Sexiest Man in the World."

She rolled her eyes.

Unable to help but laugh at his own joke, he urged, "Come on, lighten up."

"No, I wanna hear it from you."

"Hear what?"

"You know what."

"That I'm lettin' Maria stay with me again?"

"Yes."

He shrugged. Well, there it was. She'd heard it. "I am."

"And once again this was a decision you made without even consulting me."

"It was a spur-of-the-moment thing," he informed her.

"I know, but . . ." She put one hand on her hip and ran the other through her hair, looking, for once, as if she were struggling with words.

"Hey, it'll be fine," he assured her. "It's just like it was last time. Nothing more."

"I know."

"So don't freak out."

"I'm not freaking out," she denied readily. "I'm okay with it."

"You're okay with it?" Yeah, right.

"Really, I am," she insisted. "I was okay with it last time, and I'm okay with it this time. I just . . . I wish you'd let me know beforehand, that's all."

"Sorry," he apologized. Sometimes, it was better to just suck it up like that.

"It's okay," she said again. "I'm okay. We're okay."

Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief. Good. Meltdown averted.

Almost as an afterthought, she asked, "You're still sleeping on the couch, right?"

He flashed back to last night, falling asleep right there in that bed, and then to waking up in it this morning. And then he outright lied. "Yeah."

...

With absolutely no desire to sit through a basketball game that night, Michael headed home after weightlifting with Kyle. It was amazing how much less he was dreading it now that . . . now that things were better again.

"Honey, I'm home," he joked as he strode into the kitchen.

"Funny." Maria was at the stove, stirring some red sauce or salsa in a small pan.

"What're you makin'?" he asked her.

"A beef nacho casserole. My specialty. Sort of an appreciation dinner for your mom. And you."

He kicked off his shoes and leaned in to get a closer look. "Looks good." He dipped his finger into the sauce and took a taste. "Mmm, tastes better."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He picked up his shoes and tossed them out by the door, then took off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack. "That should be my motto in life, you know," he mused. "Looks good, tastes better."

She just shook her head at that and teased, "You're so weird."

"I know." He walked back over to the stove and dipped a different finger in this time to take another taste.

"Hey, so I kinda wanted to talk to you about something," she announced, swatting his hand away when he kept tasting. "Stop it."

He laughed a little, then took the spoon from her so she didn't have to keep stirring. "What about?" he asked.

"Just . . ." She leaned against the counter, hesitating before she said more. "I faintly recall falling asleep in the same bed with you last night."

Oh, yeah. That.

"And I'm pretty sure I even begged you to stay there."

"Nah, you didn't beg. You kindly requested." He grinned, finding it adorable that she seemed kind of . . . embarrassed about it.

"Well, I shouldn't have," she said. "It was wrong."

"Ah, you were so tired, you didn't even know what you were saying."

"That's no excuse," she insisted. "I don't want things to be weird, you know? And I don't wanna cause problems for you and Isabel."

He shrugged, not seeing it as a big deal like she was. "How's she gonna find out about it?"

"Well, I mean, I'm not gonna tell her or anything . . ."

"Neither am I." Problem solved. "So it'll just be our little secret."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." What Isabel didn't know wouldn't hurt her. He didn't feel the slightest bit guilty about keeping this from her, either, because he didn't want any of the three of them to have to deal with the drama. His intentions were good.

"Okay," she said, breathing a sigh of relief. "I feel better now."

"And if I fall asleep there again tonight," he added, predicting that he might just end up doing that, "then that'll be our little secret, too." He just smiled at her, suspecting she wouldn't put up too much of a fight on that.

And indeed she didn't. Slowly, a smile crept across her lips, too, and that gleam of mischief that had shone in her eyes last night when they were plotting to get her back where she belonged . . . that little gleam returned.

...

Putting up the Christmas tree was a big deal. For pretty much everyone involved. Maria said Dylan had never had a tree before, so he was going to be elated. And Michael's family hadn't decorated a tree in years. But during the middle of the afternoon on Saturday, in the midst of doing absolutely nothing in particular, his mom decided that she wanted to have one this year. So she sent Michael out to the Christmas tree lot to get one, and while he was there, she and Maria took Dylan and Tina to the store to buy some nice, new decorations. Garland, beads, lights, ornaments . . . they had the works. There was definitely a gold theme this year. Before they even started working on it, Tina boasted that it was going to look nicer than any other Christmas tree that ever existed.

Michael wasn't the most helpful when it came to decorating. His main responsibility was to haul the damn thing into the house and get it set up properly so they could start. Other than that, he was content to just sit back on the couch and watch the four of them work, because, in a strange way, it was very entertaining.

His mom and his sister actually looked . . . happy. Or at least not sad, in his mother's case, and not rebellious, in his sister's. Tina looked like a little girl again. No makeup. No fancy clothes. Just a fifth grader and her family, decorating a Christmas tree. She looked young. She was young.

It was easy to forget that his mom was young, too. Compared to other moms of kids his age, at least. She had grey hairs nowadays that she hadn't had a few years ago. Wrinkles, too, that hadn't once existed. But as she wrapped that garland around that tree, she had a smile on her face, and she, too, looked her rightful age.

Dylan was just a hoot. There was so much going on that he probably couldn't even process it. When he looked at that tree and all those decorations, he was probably just in awe of the sparkles and the bright colors. His main job was to hang stuff up near the bottom of the tree, because he couldn't reach up much higher. There were some gold apples that he was particularly fond of. So the bottom of their tree was decked out in golden plastic apples.

And then there was Maria, and watching her probably entertained him most of all. It was freezing cold outside, but they had the fireplace going for the first time in years, so she was prancing around in short little pink shorts. When she bent down to retrieve a dropped ornament on the floor, he couldn't help but stare . . . at the view. Because it was pretty nice view. And then when she stood up on her tiptoes to place that ornament at the top of tree, and the tight white shirt she was wearing inched up to reveal her stomach . . . well, he couldn't look away from that, either.

"Oh, this looks so nice," his mother raved, taking a step back to admire the tree. "What do you think, Michael?"

"Yeah," he agreed, his eyes still on Maria. "Looks good."

"We need to put the star up on the top, though."

"I wanna do it," Tina said, raising her hand as if she were in school.

"Me, too!" Dylan chirped, even though he probably didn't even know what he was volunteering for.

"Oh . . ." Tina put her hand down and said, "He can do it."

"Are you sure?" Maria asked.

She nodded.

"Okay." Maria took the brand new gold star out of the box and handed it to her son. Michael could tell she was trying to figure out how to make that work, though, because he'd gotten a pretty tall tree, and getting Dylan all the way up there wouldn't be the easiest task for her.

"Here, I got it," he said, getting up. "Hop up, Dylan." He squatted down in front of the little boy, bent his head forward, and instructed, "Up on my shoulders."

Dylan almost accidentally stabbed him in the neck with that star, but luckily, it was only plastic. He crawled up like a kid climbing a jungle gym, and Michael groaned and stood up slowly, holding onto both his little legs to keep him in place. "Alright, right at the top."

Dylan reached out his pudgy little arms and positioned the star right at the top of the evergreen, then clapped his hands proudly.

"Good job," Michael told him. It was crooked as hell, but whatever. They could straighten it out later.

"Good job, Dylan," Tina echoed.

"It looks lovely," his mom reiterated.

"See? I told you it'd be the nicest tree." Tina smirked.

Michael carefully set Dylan down again, giving him a quick high-five. "Awesome, man." When he glanced at Maria, she was just watching, smiling.

They were just putting the finishing touches on the tree when his dad came home from work. His clothes were filthy. Typical for a construction worker. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and just looked in on them for a moment, almost as if he were stunned by what he was seeing. Michael stared back at him, wondering if it was too much to hope that he might come in and join them. Maybe even just for a second. And of course it was. Because after a few seconds of staring, he just went upstairs without saying a word.

Ass, Michael thought. But then he slipped out of the living room to go talk to him.

He couldn't believe how many empty beer cans were scattered around his parents' room. They were mostly piled in the corner, underneath his dad's desk. It seemed like there were more than ever before. He wondered how his mom could even bare to look at that when she woke up in the morning.

"Didn't know you were puttin' a tree up," his dad mumbled as he untied his work boots.

"Yeah, Mom wanted to." And so had he. And Tina. And Maria and Dylan. Everyone who wasn't a depressing stick-in-the-mud jackass.

"Looks alright, I guess."

Looks better than you, Michael thought. Unlike his mom, his father was looking even older than he really was. "Hey, Dad, I need a favor," he came right out and blurted.

"Not interested."

"I just need your help with something."

His father chuckled angrily. "I don't think you can be helped at this point."

Fuck you, Michael thought. Fucking fuck you. But he didn't say it, because . . . well, even he knew that wasn't the way to ask for a favor. "I need help with a Christmas present," he revealed. "For . . . someone."

"Let me guess: Maria."

"No. Dylan."

His dad tossed his shoes aside, shaking his head, "Oh, boy, you just keep sinking in deeper, don't you?"

"What?"

Sounding completely uninterested, his dad stared at him blankly and asked, "What do you need?"

Michael reached into his back pocket and took out a piece of paper. He unfolded it to reveal a completely rough and unartistic sketch of what he had in mind. Handing it do his dad, he gauged his reaction. The frown on his face said it all. What was on that paper would be difficult to accomplish in what little time they had. Difficult . . . but not impossible.

...

Even though Tess didn't need a megaphone to be loud, she used one anyway at breakfast on the second to last day of school before Christmas break. "Thank you to everyone who participated in this year's Toys for Tots charity drive!" she hollered. But nobody was listening. Nobody wanted to be there. "Thanks to you, many children in need will experience some Christmas cheer this year." Then she tossed the megaphone aside and muttered, "Thank God that's over."

"Oh, come on, Tess, where's your holiday spirit?" Isabel teased.

"Oh, I have spirit," she assured her. "I just also have toys coming out of my eyeballs. Do you know how long it's gonna take us to deliver all these?"

Isabel bit her bottom lip nervously, feeling bad that she was about to flake. "Yeah, about that . . . I'm actually not gonna be able to help."

"What?" Tess yelped. "Are you kidding me?"

"Just get Kyle to help you or something. I can't. Michael and I are exchanging gifts tonight."

"Oh." If it was anyone else, Tess probably wouldn't have been so forgiving; she'd have issued a demerit or something. But since it was Isabel, she didn't make a big deal out of it. "What do you think he's getting you?" she asked eagerly. "I mean, besides his standard gift of, like, multiple orgasms."

Isabel blushed, knowing that would, in fact, be part of the present. "I don't know. Hopefully something good."

"What're you getting him?"

Nervous butterflies flittered around in her stomach as she tried to maintain the courage for the present she had in mind. "Something he's been wanting for quite a while."

...

Oh god, please like this, Michael thought, barely able to watch as Isabel reached into the gift sack. Stupid sack. It had a Duck Dynasty Santa on it, but that was all he'd been able to find on short notice. Luckily he felt more confident about the gift inside. Maria had given him the idea for it, and anything had to be better than last year, when he'd truthfully forgotten to get Isabel a present.

Her face lit up when she lifted out a black Adidas sweatshirt that had Princeton Tigers written on the front in orange and white. "Oh my god," she gasped. "Michael . . ."

Oh, yeah. Score.

"I love it!" She held it up to her front, beaming with excitement. "It's perfect."

"There's more," he informed her.

"Really?"

He nodded, motioning for her to dig down farther in the sack.

"Oh my." She set the sweatshirt aside on the bed and reached down to the bottom, taking out the items he was a little more enthused about: a Princeton bra and panties. Both items were black, and the panties said Go Tigers! on the butt. As for the bra, the tiger mascot was present on both boobs.

He wriggles his eyebrows, hoping she'd model those particular items for him tonight. "Nice, huh?"

She laughed. "Where did you even find these?"

"I ordered it all online." , to be precise, but he wasn't going to tell her that.

"Well, thank you," she said, putting all three clothing items back in the sack. "I especially like the sweatshirt."

He especially liked the underwear, but . . . oh, well. Differences.

"Your turn," she declared, handing him a small square-shaped package. "I hope you like it."

Like a little kid, he tore through the paper, eager to get to what was inside. There was a cardboard box from some company he didn't recognize, and he had to use scissors to get through the packing tape. But once he did, what was inside was . . . admittedly, pretty damn awesome. A Metallica live concert on Blu-ray.

"Oh, cool," he remarked.

"Apparently this is, like, super rare," she informed him. "But everyone says it's one of their best concerts. I guess they do, like, three covers of Beatles songs, which are kind of awesome."

"Yeah, this is great. Thanks." He glanced at the back, noticing that she'd chipped away at the price tag. But if it was as rare as she said it was, it probably hadn't been cheap.

"Do you like it?" she asked.

"Yes, very much. Thank you." He leaned in and gave her a quick kiss. Phew. What a relief. A gift exchange that had gone according to plan. No tears, no drama, no pretending to like a gift when you really didn't. He was satisfied, as was she.

"I, uh . . ." She scooted a little bit closer to him, putting one hand on his thigh. "I actually have another present for you."

His mind, always living in the gutter, started to imagine the possibilities. "You gonna jingle my bells?" he teased.

"Mmm, even better." With her free hand, she reached back into her purse, slowly pulling out . . . something he only had ever dreamed he'd see in her hand: a tube of anal lubricant.

"Holy fuck," he swore in disbelief. No way. He wasn't seeing things straight or something, because this was the same girl who, only months earlier, had vowed to never do this with him or anyone. Ever. For all time. She thought it was disgusting.

Yet there she was, practically laying out the welcome mat. She handed the small black tube over to him and smiled encouragingly, and he knew . . . oh, he knew . . . he was one lucky son of a bitch.

When they first got started, it was fine—lots of foreplay just to get her in the mood—but he could tell she was nervous. Whenever he even laid a hand on her, she started to shrink away from him. Once she was on all fours and he was poised behind her, ready to try it out, she seemed as if she were on the verge of tears.

"Michael, I don't know," she whimpered as he pressed the tip of his cock to her entrance. "I don't know." She jolted forward, out of his reach, and then started to turn around.

"It'll be fine," he assured her. At this point, she was more lubed up than was humanly possible, and his cock was so slippery, he could hardly even get a hold of it.

"I'm nervous," she confessed.

Yeah. That much was obvious.

"I don't know if I can do this."

Hadn't it been her idea? "Just relax," he told her. "I'll go slow."

She sniffed back tears, mumbling, "Okay," as she turned around and got on all fours again.

"You wanna lay down or somethin'?" he asked. Past experience had taught him that sometimes the girl might just be a little self-conscious.

"No."

"Alright." He put both his hands on her hips, pulling her back against him a bit, but once again, the second she felt his erection even brush against her, she jerked away again.

"No, Michael, I can't," she decided, starting to cry. "I'm sorry."

He sighed. At this point, it was more work than it was worth anyway. He wasn't going to pressure her into doing something she obviously didn't really want to.

"I'm really sorry," she cried, looking so small as she sat there, naked, in the middle of her bed. She covered her face with her hands, literally sobbing, probably because she was embarrassed.

"Hey, it's okay," he assured her, putting his arms around her. "Come here." He pulled her heaving body in close, hugging her, trying to let her know that he wasn't mad. Because he wasn't. Not really. The girl had every right to have second thoughts, to change her mind. Even if it was a bit of a letdown. "It's fine."

"I'm sorry."

Yeah. So was he.

He talked to Kyle about it the next day, at lunch, because . . . well, they had a bromance, so they could talk about that stuff. They had to talk quickly, though, before Isabel and Tess came and sat down with them.

"So she started cryin' huh?" Kyle asked.

"Yeah."

"That's always awkward."

"You're tellin' me." He hadn't ended up getting laid at all last night, because after the failed anal attempt, Isabel was so worked up, she told him she thought it'd be best if he just went home. His biggest concern, at this point, was that this was going to throw a wrench in their sex life, which, up until this point, had been pretty damn good.

"How'd you get Tess to do it?" he asked, seeking the wise ways of the boyfriend master. "How'd you convince her?"

"Didn't have to," Kyle replied with a shrug. "It was her idea."

"Yeah, and this was Isabel's idea."

"But Tess didn't just do it to please me. She wanted to try it, too."

Michael frowned. Therein lay the problem, didn't it? Isabel's heart hadn't been in it. She'd only suggested they do it because she knew it was something he wanted to do, not something she wanted to do. Why was it so hard for them to get on the same page? For Tess and Kyle, it seemed so easy.

"I mean, we made it really romantic," Kyle went on. "Mood music and candles and everything."

"Candles." Dammit, he should've thought about candles. Not that that would've helped. Romance wasn't his area of expertise.

"Ah, maybe next time," Kyle said as the girls approached the table with their lunch trays in hand. Isabel was wearing her Princeton sweatshirt.

"Yeah," Michael muttered. But he really doubted if Isabel would ever even be willing to try it again.

...

It was such a good feeling to officially be on Christmas break. And as an avid school-enthusiast, Isabel could only imagine how exciting it was for someone like Michael, who barely even managed to get himself there in the morning.

Oh, Michael . . . The sooner they had mind-blowing regular sex again, the better. He'd acted normal all day, but she couldn't help still being very embarrassed.

"Hey, Mom," she chirped when she arrived home that night, hoping to curl up in her pajamas and do some writing.

"Hi, honey." Her mom must have just gotten home, because she was still wearing work clothes as she sorted through the mail. "How's it feel to be on winter break?"

"Amazing," Isabel admitted, setting her backpack down on one of the kitchen chairs. Incredibly, she still had homework, though, essays that were due the first day back. "I can't believe I only have half a year of high school left, though."

"Oh, don't remind me. It's all going too fast," her mother fretted. "Before you know it, I'll be all alone here."

"I'll call every day," Isabel promised.

Her mom smiled knowingly, shaking her head. "No, you won't."

No, Isabel admitted internally. I probably won't. She sat down next to her mom, picking up a few envelopes off the table, glancing at who they were from. "Are these Christmas cards?" she asked. There was a pretty sizeable stack of them there.

"Yeah, mostly," her mom replied. "Why don't you look through them, see if your dad actually got around to sending one this year?"

Isabel grunted and used her fingernail to slice open the first envelope. "Yeah, I doubt it."

...

"Tell me something I don't know about you."

Maria's heart pitter-pattered in her chest as she and Michael lay on the living room floor that night, right next to the golden Christmas tree. Dylan was sprawled out on the bed, and neither one of them had the heart to move him. So they went downstairs, and Michael turned on the tree and started up the fireplace. He laid out a blanket and took two pillows off the couch. And they just laid there together, talking, passing time. Andy and Krista were out, and Tina was in her room, so it was just the two of them. Just the way she liked it.

"Something you don't know?" she echoed, flattered that he was taking an interest.

"Yeah." Reaching up over his head, he started to play with the apples Dylan had hung on the bottom of the tree. "Or do I know everything?"

She smiled, because even though he did know her well, there were a lot of things she hadn't told him about. "No, there's a lot you don't know," she informed him, not even sure where to start. She'd become a very private person over the years, picking and choosing what to share. There were some things in her past that she was deeply ashamed of and never talked about, but if she couldn't tell him, then who would she ever be able to tell?

"Okay," she said, turning onto her side, figuring out which of many secrets she wanted to spill. "I've never told anyone this before, but when I was fourteen years old . . ." She hesitated, wishing she didn't have this kind of story to tell. "I was arrested."

His mouth dropped open, and he shot her a look of disbelief. "What?"

Nowadays, it was hard to imagine; she got that. But back then, it had almost been inevitable. "My mom and I were living in Santa Fe. It was my first year of high school. I sorta fell in with the wrong crowd right away. I started drinking and partying nonstop."

"Been there," he said.

"Yeah, but this was excessive." There were nights where she had drank so much that she'd literally blacked out. And it'd been scary. "Anyway, around Halloween, my friends and I decided that it'd be really fun to steal my math teacher's car." She rolled her eyes at her own unbelievable idiocy. "So we did. And we were wasted, of course. So when we got caught, we all got hauled off to jail for underage drinking and possession of a stolen motor vehicle. The only reason they let me off with a warning was because my teacher didn't press charges, and I didn't have any priors."

"Damn," Michael swore. "You're badass."

"It wasn't badass. It was stupid." Hindsight was twenty-twenty. She saw things differently now.

"I bet your mom was pissed."

"Yeah, that was sort of the start of our relationship decline. But it didn't get better after that. Like, you would think it would be a wakeup call, but it wasn't. I just got worse. I started doing drugs. And when Christmas rolled around that year, my mom's present was to catch me and a friend up in my bedroom, snorting coke."

Michael's facial expression changed from one that was almost . . . impressed, in a way, to one that was empathetic. "Wow."

"Yeah. So that was the final straw for her, and she sent me to live with my dad in Albuquerque. She thought he'd be able to get me back on the right track."

"But you ended up gettin' pregnant."

"Yep. So . . . not so much." She rolled back over onto her back, trying not to get choked up. It was emotional stuff to think about, though. Her whole life had changed that year, when she'd been just fourteen, fifteen years old. She'd still been a kid. She hadn't known what she was doing.

"How'd that happen?" he asked.

"Well, see there's this little thing called a condom. We didn't have one."

He chuckled lightly. "No, I mean . . . I know how, but . . . where'd you meet the guy?"

"Just at school." It had been completely non-romantic, too, meeting him in lunch detention. But at the time, it had been a whirlwind, one she'd been all too happy to get swept up in. "He kind of had everyone fooled, because he was pretty well-off, so everyone assumed he wouldn't be into the drug scene. But he was, so he was exactly the wrong person for me to get involved with, but . . . I just . . ." She shuddered, even though the fireplace was crackling behind her. The memories . . . they weren't easy. When she thought about Dylan's father, she could picture him so perfectly. Those dark eyes, that dark hair . . .

"You loved him?" Michael filled in.

She wiped the image of him from her mind, nodding, blinking back the tears in her eyes. "He was my first . . ." She trailed off, afraid that she might be oversharing. But after years of keeping everything inside, it felt good to open up. "He was the first guy I was ever with. The only guy. I was young, naïve. I thought I was gonna be with him forever. But . . . we'd only been together, like, four months when I found out I was pregnant, so . . . I guess it just wasn't meant to be."

"Guess not," Michael agreed, plucking one of the apple ornaments off the tree. He handed it to her, and she wasn't sure why, but it made her smile. Like he was giving that to her so she'd feel better.

Was it too crazy of her to think that she was meant to end up here, with him?

"It kinda sounds like . . . having Dylan might've . . . I don't know, saved your life," he speculated.

"Yeah, it probably did." She'd thought about that, about how carrying him around for nine months, not being able to drink or get high or do any of the stupid things she'd once done, had been such a blessing in that respect. "I had to change. But . . . you know, his father didn't, so . . . I don't even know what he's up to nowadays."

"He doesn't even pay child support or anything?" Michael asked.

She shook her head. "No. I don't want him to have anything to do with Dylan's life." As it currently stood, they were probably better off without him, especially if he still had a drug problem.

"What's his name?" Michael asked.

She sighed reluctantly, because she had deliberately not spoken his name for so long now. It had taken her years to get over him. But no matter how much time passed, he was still a part of her life, and because they had a son together, he always would be.

She turned her head to the side, staring right at Michael, and quietly uttered her response: "Max."

...

Isabel was once again backspacing, not quite satisfied with what she was typing, when her mom came into her bedroom. She was dressed in her robe and nightgown, probably on her way to bed.

"Hi, honey," she said quietly. "I found this mixed in with the bills earlier. Thought you might wanna see it." She handed her daughter one of the Christmas cards.

Isabel closed her laptop and sat up straighter in bed, taking the card from her mom.

"It's from your brother."

As her mom left the room, Isabel pulled the card out of the envelope, taking a quick look at it. Nothing special. Santa on the front, a simple Merry Christmas on the inside. In fact, the only thing that was handwritten was her brother's name, scrawled out below.

Max.

She set the card aside on her nightstand and opened her computer again so she could keep writing.