prickle of intuition. This wasn’t just another year; this was the culmination of a long-running story.
Adrian took the envelope with a different air about him. He didn’t tear into it with the reckless abandon of a child. He held it with a sense of gravity, perhaps sensing that the transition into manhood would bring with it a finality to these childhood mysteries. He sat down at the breakfast bar, his movements slow and deliberate.
I busied myself at the stove, pretending to be preoccupied with flipping eggs, but I
