“Alexia had found pregnancy relatively manageable, up to a point. That point having been some three weeks ago, at which juncture her natural reserves of control gave way to sentimentality. Only yesterday she had ended breakfast sobbing over the fried eggs because they looked at her funny. The pack had spent a good half hour trying to find a way to pacify her. Her husband was so worried he looked to start crying himself.”
“Are you talking to a can?” Captain Bog’s voice bellowed behind him.
Jed looked up. “No.”
“Did it say anything interesting. You sounded pretty sweet and mushy. Were you two getting to know each other? Middle names, favorite colors, that sort of thing?”
“I wasn’t talking to a can.”
Captain Bog rubbed his chin. “Hmmm. Interesting. Either (a) you don’t know what the word talking means or (b) you don’t know what cans are. Because you were holding one, and you were talking to it.”
Biffy huffed. “Curtains,” he explained slowly as though to a very thick child (which, to be fair, rather defined Rafe’s character), “are a serious business.”