Vicki sniffled a little bit on the other line. I could hear the tv in the background.

“Are…are you watching Pretty Woman?” I accused.

“Yeah,” Vicki said innocently.

“Oh my god, Vick. This is bad. I remember your mom used to watch that movie every time she broke up with one of her male model boyfriends. Which was pretty much the only time I ever saw that woman, come to think of it. She was gone so much…okay, sorry to bring up the neglectful supermodel mother thing again, but seriously. This is lame,” I said.

“I’ll be okay,” she said reassuringly, “Hey, I hear the doorbell, someone’s here I have to go.”

“But I’m not done fixing you. There’s still about six gazillion Freudian analyzations I have to make on you that will probably just screw you up even worse,” I argued.

“I really have to go,” she said, “Bye.”

“Lame,” I said, setting my phone down. Ethan had woken up, and was looking a little dazed.

“Hey Ethan,” I said walking into my bedroom with a toaster waffle in my hand.