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... hed inwardly as I heard my mother's voice on the other end of the phone, her tone a familiar blend of warmth and persistence.

"Eric, dear, how are you?" she asked, as if she didn't already know.

"I'm fine, Mom," I replied, trying to sound cheerful. We exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes, catching up on family news and gossip. But I knew where this conversation was headed.

"Eric, you're not getting any younger," she said, her voice taking on a hint of concern.

...

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“Now… where should I put you both?” he asked casually, not expecting a reply. “It’s regretful that I only have one chandelier.”

“Underneath my bed? No, no, too dirty. My dust bunnies don’t deserve this,” Atticus mused to himself. “The mantlepiece? How about the vanity table? I suppose if I lop off one of your heads I could mount it over… Wife, which head do you want to stare at while you do your hair?”

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