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“Not for more than an hour probably. You’d think I would’ve been exhausted, but I couldn’t get to sleep.”

“Did you doomscroll like me or what?”

“I sent some emails, looked through the preliminary contracts on a paving and concrete business I’m buying. Then I gave up and watched some crap on YouTube.”

“What’d you watch? Goodfellas? The Sopranos?” she teases me. I don’t crack a smile but it takes an effort to keep a straight face.

“Jackie Chan,” I say.

“Really? Kung fu movies?” she wrinkles her nose.

“The guy’s made something like 150 movies. They’re pretty good.”

“I had no idea you were this adorable. You’re so dorky about this, I can’t stand it.”

“Dorky?” I repeat, feigning offense.

“Does Rory know? About the Jackie Chan thing?”

“Not really. We typically have more important things to discuss.”

“How many times have you seen Kung Fu Panda?” She challenges.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I lie, grinning.

“You were how old when the first one came out? I was eight or nine so you’d have been like, what, thirty?” she teases.

“If you were eight or nine, that made me…” I wince a little at the thought of being fifteen years older than her. “Twenty-three.”

“Wow,” she says. “I was being a smartass about your age but when you put it like that, it just really shows the contrast. I still had baby teeth and you were old enough to drink and have tattoos and shit.”

I drink the rest of my beer and try not to think about it too hard.

“So, when you got your driver’s license I was like one year old?” She ventures. I nod.

“I never heard the end of how they made Rory put a booster seat in his first car so he could pick me up from daycare,” she says.

“I remember he didn’t love that,” I say. “I tried to tell him it made him look like maybe he just had a baby mama and knocked up an older broad.”

She laughs, “God, he was so embarrassed. I remember that from when I was little. He said it was disgusting, that he had to think about Mom and Dad having sex when he was a teenager because they got pregnant with me.”

“Your parents weren’t that old,” I say.

“My mom was like thirty-five when I was born. God, I miss her. My dad was probably about your age.”

“Jesus, Katie. Could we keep my age and your dad out the same sentence?” I nearly spit out my cheese dip.

“No way. If I knew it was this much fun roasting you about your age I would have done it a long time ago,” she says visibly enjoying herself.

“You miss them a lot,” I say. She nods.

“Don’t you miss your parents?”

“I don’t remember my mom. She died in an accident when I was pretty little. And my dad worked a lot. I guess I miss Fiona. She was my nanny.”

“Did she pass away?”

“A few years before my dad, yeah,” I say. “She was great.”