Last night was a vanilla bath by candlelight during a tumultuous thunderstorm and a very sweet, whispery telephone call to Houston. After a particularly loud clap of thunder, Brandon's sugary words stopped short.

"Kristen, is it lightning there?"

In the smallest voice possible, I confirmed that it was.

"So in the middle of a lightning storm, you're soaking in a bathtub, talking on the telephone?"

I told him how I had just been thinking that this was pretty much my mother's worst nightmare.

"Yeah? Well then I like your mom. She's smart."

And I told him that it was good that he liked her. Because he was going to have plenty of time to get to know her when they both fled to my parents' basement at the first hint of a rolling gray storm cloud in the distance. And she'd be happy to have help unplugging every electrical device in the house before heading downstairs.

He laughed a sweet, nervous laugh. After all, I was still in the bathtub and we were still on the telephone.