"What do you do with all the thoughts?"
"I told you. I sit with them."
I cross my arms. Lean against the windowsill.
"Okay. New plan. We're going to talk."
"We are talking."
"No, we're arguing." I tilt my head. "Tell me something about yourself."
Bruno's expression closes off. "Like what?"
"Anything. Your favorite color. Your favorite food. What you wanted to be when you grew up."
"This isn't a first date."
"No, it's even worse. A marriage. Which means we should probably know basic things about each other before your mother arrives and expects us to act like we're in love."
He has no response to that.
I wait.
The clock ticks. 2:23 AM.
"Blue," Bruno says finally.
"What?"
"My favorite color. Blue."
It's such a small thing. Such a simple answer. But it feels like a victory.
"What kind of blue?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes."
He sighs. "Dark blue. Like the sky just before it goes completely black."
I file that away. Dark blue. The edge of night.
"My turn," I say. "Green. Like the leaves in summer when the sun shines through them."
Bruno watches me. Says nothing.
"Your turn again," I prompt.
"I didn't agree to take turns."
"You're doing it anyway. Favorite food."
A long pause.
"My mother's lasagna," he says. "She makes it with fresh pasta. Takes her all day."
"That sounds amazing."