On the weekends, I wake before Andy. I shuffle into the kitchen, turn on the coffee maker, and scoop the oatmeal into bowls. Invariably, one scoop is bigger than the other. Invariably, my hand always reaches for the bigger bowl first.
It was the evening before my wedding. My Chinese-American fiancé and I had made the mistake of having an open bar at our rehearsal dinner. Despite Andy’s best efforts, most of our wedding party got trashed. The worst offenders were our brothers. My Big Brother, former Naval Officer, had conned my twenty-one-year-old Baby Brother into attempting to match his alcohol consumption. And while Andy’s little brother Denny had thankfully been cut off early by the bartender, he’d still downed too many shots.