"I should get dressed," I groan.

"Why?" he asks, stroking my backside slowly.

"It's 4 pm," I inform him.

"Fuck." He sits up. "The school!"

"Exactly." I nod.

"Just relax," he says. "I'll pick him up."

"While I lie here, naked, in your office?" I ask him. "Waiting for you to return? Is that the plan?"

"Please," he groans. "Stop talking. I should get dressed."

"So, what's the problem?"

"I should fit in my pants," he sighs.

"It seems a bit too late for that," I inform him.

"Fuck," he moans. "Okay, what if I ask Ollie to bring him here?"

"Perfect idea."

"All right, I'll call her," he says. "But I need a very serious promise. You stay three meters away while I speak."

I laugh but promise nothing.

Ollie picks up after the very first ring.

"You're on speakerphone, just so you know!" she bellows.

"You're not yet, babe," I tell her from three meters away, "but you're shouting so fucking loud, that it's still audible."

"What?" she shrieks. "Never mind, the only thing that matters is that you're still together! Or did you just take Mark's phone after you murdered him?"

"She's fucking wasted," he whispers to me and puts the call on speakerphone too.

Now we hear all of them. I wish we wouldn't, but we do.

"Hey, my precious little vis maiors," Bill greets us. "I hope you had a great time, cause we had! And I hope it was satisfying enough to make up for all today's lost cases because there were a few, I'm afraid."

"Should I answer that?" Mark asks me, leaning closer to my ear.

"Absolutely not," I giggle.

He clears his throat, trying to find a more professional tone.

"Is there any good news too, Bill?"

"Apart from the happy hour here? Nah."

"Don't be stupid, Bill," Andy chimes in. "What about good old McEvans? He's not a judge anymore! Mark did it! Hey, man, you did it, do you hear it?"

"I do," he answers. "And so do the pedestrians walking by the building, so could you just shout a little less?"

"I love you all!" Christy shrieks, so loud, that the phone seems to jump.

"I guess that's a no," Mark says, but Christy is unstoppable.

"Hey, Mark, I wish you were here with us! We are so lost without you! Oh, and we had to lie so much today about our cases being on pause, and it was so stressful! I'm out of excuses for a year! I don't know what to do!"

"Okay," Mark sighs, switching back to boss mode at once. "Do you have any questions?"

He's so cute, being the dutiful leader, giving direction to his people in need, while wearing nothing. But I sense the trap much before he does. I cross my arms in front of my naked chest and grin at him. He still doesn't understand what he's done. But his blessed ignorance can't last long.

"I do!" shouts Liam. He sounds as if he's been asleep until now, waking up to the noise. "Were you really fucking on the floor? I mean, I have no problem with it, I think it's kinda hot, just asking."

Mark spreads his hands, with slight shock on his face. I can't hold my laughter back anymore.

"Hey, he doesn't sound very scared at least," I whisper to him.

I see the struggle on his face, as he tries to come up with an answer, categorical enough to set things straight, without sounding too commanding, but he's too slow. Andy is faster.

"Oh, I have one too! Are you still naked? Like, right now?"

We both instinctively reach for our clothes, trying not to feel caught red-handed.

"I thought about questions of legal nature," Mark groans.

"No one cares for fucking legal issues at revolutionary times likes this!" Thelma yells. "Were you banging all day? It's 4 PM!"

There's an appreciative murmur coming from the other side of the line.

"It's a good question, right?" Thelma snorts, dripping with complacence.

"Not really," Mark protests, but no one seems to care.

"Absolutely," Bill exclaims. "It's good! And relevant!"

"Yes! Very relevant!" agrees everyone, except for us.

"I have the best questions, bitches," says Thelma, sounding like a drunk matriarch. "Oh, and I was also the first to notice that Mark fell for the Ropie girl. He behaved so stupid, it was kinda cute... on the other hand, if he hadn't been behaving stupid, he could have banged her eons ago, just like all the other—"

"Thelma," Mark retorts, sounding much more annoyed than before. "And everyone else. Please. Think of tomorrow. You'll have the worst hangover the world has ever seen, and I'll still be your boss. Now—"

"Oh, shut up!" Ollie cuts in. "We worried so much for you!"

"Right!" joins Christy. "You were self-destruc... destrive... des... oh, fuck, I can't say it now, but you were!"

"We feared for your life!" Andy blurts out, sounding as if he was on the verge of crying.

"For fuck's sake, stop being so melodramatic!" Mark sighs. But they are not even hearing it. They are too drunk to pay attention to him.

I touch his shoulder, to provide him with moral support. He turns to me, shaking his head, with an amused expression on his face. We crack up at the same moment. We laugh so loud that it would certainly be audible on the other side of the line too, if they weren't lamenting over Mark's broken heart. I bury my face in his chest, and he buries his face in my neck, to muffle our mirth.

"I even prayed for you two to get together," Christy shouts, "and I'm not even religious!"

"I can't believe it," Ollie replies, "you know what, I also lit a candle in Saint George's!"

"No way," Andy cries. "Me too! I mean, what else could have helped these fools? Nothing but a miracle!"

We are laughing so hard, it's not easy to stand on our feet. It's even more complicated to find my voice.

"Okay," I giggle, trying to stop it. "Okay, thank you all, it was a nice chat, but now we got to go."

"Hey, babe, are you all right?" Ollie squeals.

"Absolutely."

"You know," she goes on," I want details! Oh, yes, a detailed report on—"

"Well," I cut in, just in time, "I really have to go, babe. Ben's already waiting for me."

"Tell him I love him," she sobs. "You know, I'm a bit sad you didn't die. I would have raised him so perfectly! On the other hand..."

"Okay," I giggle, "okay. I'll tell him you love him, babe. But I'm sure he already knows it."

After I end the call, we try to get dressed very quickly. But our laughing fits don't make it any easier.

We're late. But it's enough to cast a glance at Ben's face, to see that Mark's presence makes up for it. He asks nothing, just jumps in the car.

"Let's go home," he says. Even his voice is full of hidden smiles.

I only notice the problem when Mark turns to me.

He doesn't need to ask; I know. Where? That is the question.

"You decide," he says.

"Hm." I consider the options. "I have only a single bed."

Mark looks at me meaningfully. As if he tried to tell me that he knows perfectly well, and he's been thinking about it a lot lately.

"On the other hand," I go on, "I've spent so many terrible nights in there, that it really needs some... purging."

"Okay," he says, starting the car.

"But it will be so uncomfortable," I muse on.

"It will." He shrugs. "But I couldn't care less, as long as you're in there."

Ben watches us suspiciously. I see it in the mirror, as he turns his head to look at him, then me, then him, again. His smile is getting wider and wider. It's incredible. We don't even touch each other. We're not even holding hands, but he knows. He's only eight years old, and he clearly knows what's going on.

Even when we arrive home, and Mark stays there with us, he doesn't comment. But, I can tell, with each passing hour he gets happier and happier.

When Mark visits Ms. Okoro, he volunteers to go with him. I can only hope that they'll escape without roof climbing this time.

Ms. Okoro sends her love to me, that's what Mark says. She also thinks that the bitch can't cook, and Mark could easily get someone better with all his money. That's what my son reports. Then they start to argue about it, discussing if Ms. Okoro meant it, the importance of cooking, and the possibility of buying women with money. It's a real argument, not some primitive verbal brawling. Ben makes quick work of Mark. I don't interfere, I'm preparing dinner using my nonexistent cooking skills, with my back to them.

"He's looked so cute until now, hasn't he?" I ask Mark, when he wanders to my side to steal a piece of cheese.

"He's his mother's son." He laughs, kissing the nape of my neck. I almost cut my finger, it has such a powerful effect on me.

When it's bedtime, Ben finally asks me, whispering in our language, if Mark's going to stay forever. I caress his face and refrain from getting into philosophical details, regarding the uselessness of thinking in absolutes. I simply tell him the truth. That he's going to stay for tonight.

The answer makes him absolutely content. It probably means the same to him. Forever, tonight, just two concepts, trying to hedge in the infinite. Now he can ask for a goodnight kiss from both of us, and that's what matters to him.

The single bed, on the other hand, is indeed made for singles.

It's another absolute, philosophical truth that we realize that night.

The only way we can fit is hugging each other as tightly as a shipwreck victim the last ring buoy. Claus, when he notices what we are doing, runs out into the night screaming, without even looking back.

I'm not saying it's impossible to sleep. Or, if it is, it's not because of our bed. It's because of the other one in the room. The one my son sleeps in.

We are too close. Just a few meters away. So we can't make out, yet we can't keep our hands off of each other either. It's a new level of frustration. We can't even move away from each other. I feel his every move. His every breath. Even his every thought, when he's trying his best not to rub against me, but still does.

"Stop it," I whisper to him breathlessly.

"Don't take it sexually," he moans, barely audibly, "it's just an academic argument, in order to make you choose my place for tomorrow night."

"A strong argument," I admit, trying not to sound as thirsty as I am. "Very strong."

"I'm glad to hear it," he whispers. "Though I enjoy being here too. See, that door frame is still the same. And I put up that border too, back in the day."

I chuckle, but it turns into a whimper when he pokes me in the right place.

"What if we go outside?" he asks me, sounding desperate.

"To the garden?" I ask, mortified.

"To the car," he replies.

"It's not much better," I tell him. "It's still gross. Everyone can see us."

"Everybody does that around here."

"Oh, in the 'hood, I get it," I whisper. "And I bet it wouldn't be a first for you, right?"

"It would," he insists.

"A first time?" I ask.

"Yes," he murmurs, sending shivers down my spine. "It would be totally different than anything else."

"Why?"

"Well, the car is slightly better."

I almost burst out laughing. I have to press my mouth against his skin to muffle it.

"And the woman," he goes on.

"What about the woman?"

"The woman..." he sighs, "you would never believe it. The woman... is an official lunatic."

I giggle again. I can hardly breathe. It's not easy to laugh without making a sound. He holds me tight and muses on.

"Until you have tried it, you know nothing of life."

I've been burying my nose in his chest for too long, and now all I can think about is the logical need to taste something that smells so good.

"... and the universe, and everything," he finishes his monologue.

"Okay, let's go outside," I whisper, surprising him.

"Really?" he asks.

"Really," I sigh. "Because, what's the worst that can happen? There's no shooting outside."