“So he is a Jew, then. Why do you like him? He's always on my case.” (Everyone's always on his case.)
Michael leans back into the couch, sipping his martini crookedly and watching Lee as she plays with his hair. It would be nice if they were home right now. He'd curl over and lie down in her lap and listen to the sound of her fingers combing over his scalp. He'd ask her what she says about him to other people, what she thinks is important enough to tell. He'd bury his face between her legs.