What time is it right now in Mexico?
Goodness knows Andrew will be asleep by 9 p.m., like a good boy, and the last thing I want is to wake him, though I know he’d never complain.
I try to remember and calculate the difference in time zone, though I could just look it up.
I’m pretty sure Maryland is an hour ahead of Mexico City.
Still, he takes a minute or two to respond, and when he does, it sounds like he’s eating lunch.
At 3 p.m.?
“Why didn’t you wait to swallow before you called me?” I grumble, scoldingly.
“Didn’t want to miss your call and then end up having to play phone tag back and forth,” he says a little thickly. I hear him swallow and then the aggressive slurp of him drinking…something or other. Fruit juice probably, because he never could grow into drinking coffee or tea like any other adult.
I roll my eyes a little mom-ishly, though I know he can’t see me.
And then I curse my own brain for remembering-
“I got your Christmas card,” I say as steadily as I can manage when the racket stops, “How many times do I have to tell you to stop addressing my letters like that?”
“But the beauty of the mail system is that they have to deliver it,” he laughs, his voice vibrating through the microphone like crackly sunshine.