“Despite her obvious stress, my mom still managed to pour the hot chocolate into mugs, cover them with whipped cream and a pinch of cayenne, and add a cinnamon stick to them. She was like the Jedi master of hot chocolate.”

“If she ran, at least her body still had motion, even if her brain was mired under responsibility.”

“I slid back into our booth. My pie was still there. For some reason, that seemed like it shouldn't be. Hadn't I been gone a long time? I felt like a death should resonate, like the whole diner should have felt it. The pie should have crumbled into dust by now. People should be somber. But the Goth kids still laughed over their coffee, the drunks were still drunk, and my pie refused to mourn.”

“Hey, you called me Sam. My actual name. Not Master or dumbass—” “I have never in my life called anyone dumbass.” “Are you sure?” “Yes. Now, focus.”

“You want waffles?” I tried to keep the skepticism from my voice. “No firstborn or a pot of gold?”“I’m not a leprechaun, Sam. And what would I do with a baby?” Her eyebrow shot back up, and she crossed her arms. “I want waffles. Take it or leave it.”I glanced at Brid, who was staring at Ashley shrewdly.“Let’s talk numbers,” she said. “Are we talking, like, twenty waffles all at once? Or a waffle a week for six months? What?”“Every day for two years,” Ashley said.“That’s outrageous,” Brid sputtered.”

“Essentially, the whole time I’d been here, the security staff hadn’t been paid. I would have been harassing the management too, though I probably would have started with a discussion and not so much jumping straight to peeing on someone’s bed. You have to work up to that sort of thing. Still, I had essentially staged a hostile takeover, which did kind of explain why they’d been going on the offensive.”

“Can you just tell them we don’t need Jesus, Girl Scout cookies, or whatever the Mormons worship, and let me lie here in peace?”