Chapter 24: Received

Will was asleep on his stomach with one arm hanging off the bed, and I let him be.

I put on his flannel and went down to the kitchen and made coffee in the light of every lamp.

Then I turned the lamps off, one at a time, going back up the stairs.

By seven the sun was in the window, the form was in my purse, and Will was in the shower, singing something terrible.

At 7:58 I walked into the pale-green office with the fish tank, in the red coat, with my mother's pearls in my ears.

The receptionist looked up from her screen.

I laid the form on her counter.

"Emergency contact change," I said. "Open enrollment closes today."

"I know. I emailed it nine times."

She picked it up.

She read the top, and then the line, and then the line through the old name.

Her mouth fell open.

"William Barrett," she said. "Who's William Barrett?"

"Will."

"The soup?"

"Yes."

"Relationship," she read, "mine."

She looked at me.

I looked at her.

Then she screamed, once, short and joyful, and half the waiting room dropped their phones.

"Excuse me," said the dentist, from his open office door, with a mug in his hand. "Is everything all right?"

"She's turning in a form!" the receptionist shouted.

"Oh," he said. "Good."

She got out the big stamp from the drawer, the one for insurance claims, and inked it.