Fork tinking against a bowl as the movie dramatically continues upstairs. His knee rests slightly on my thigh as we sit at the table downstairs. The movie tries to entice, but my fingers type. He is reading his new book, clearing his throat and shifting his thumb ever so slightly on the page. My screen is a little too bright, the keys click; the space bar a higher sound than the pattering of letters. A battle must be starting in the movie. My water in a green plastic glass rests on the yellow coaster and I feel thirsty. It’s cool and soothing as I drink.