They decided to play Scrabble in front of the fan, with a pitcher of icy lemonade on hand in the fridge. In their skivvies they stretched out on the living room floor, untan flesh stark against the blue carpeting. They were both horrible spellers—she wasn’t even sure why she had Scrabble in her game collection—so they cheated a lot, eventually even looking up words based on the letters on their racks. About halfway through, she went to slice some fruit while he poured more lemonade, and they discussed what to do about dinner.

They never finished the game.