I already knew he was the only person allowed to mutilate my name and the only person who gets to wake me up at 6 a.m. and expect anything other than grouchy incoherence. But today he added to the list.

I’m sitting in my parents’ camper with my book beside me. I’m not reading the book, mind; it’s just there. And Zach grabs it and says, with a gleeful chortle, “I’m take your book away, Mowique!” He tosses it over to the edge of the couch, out of my reach.

It is entirely possible other people throughout the years have *wanted* to take a book away from me, but no one else has ever dared.