In the morning, when Nick's alarm sounds and I turn onto my side, facing away from him, it is I who tries to sleep while he is awake. No murmurs from me when he reaches out, instead grunts of unwillingness on most days. And when I speak, telling him to get up that I'll come in a moment he leaves his still warm pillow on his side of the bed. I flip over onto my belly, quick-like, and shove it under my head and chest hugging it under myself. Drifting.