“Where’s Joe?”“At his dad’s place. Every Sunday we go there for dinner.”“I could have dropped you off there.”“I’m going to call hi....” They chatted for a bit while my coffee was brewing. Maggie was completely different. Giggling and talking comfortably.“So how’s the nicest guy in the world?”“He’s fine, but completely pissed. We usually get wasted there and sleep there Sunday nights. Big dinner, lots of wine and beer, aperitifs and liqueurs. He is going sleep it off.”She went to the kitchen and. I got my coffee and added some cream from the fridge. With the cup, all steaming hot, I sat cattycorner to my sister at the table and took in her sheepish grin. "You're really doing well," I commented.She just nodded, and suddenly we were in a very serious conversation about David's suicide, the hard months after, her own depression. I completely forgot the games for a little while, and was relating to my sister in the way we always had, emotionally close but devoid of sexual baggage of any. More

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