Beginning I

The first thing Urchin does when he wakes up is call me.
“Hey,” he says groggily.
“Hey,” I reply in the same tone even though I’ve been awake since 9am.
“The sun’s not out yet,” he tells me, as if I didn’t already know.
I ask him if he’s seen the sun at all lately and he gives me a curt “No.”
The distance between the Upper West Side and Park Slope feels insurmountable in this moment. The East River might as well be the Atlantic.
“I’m feeling lonely,” I tell him. He chuckles in response knowing what a common occurrence it is. “Come over. I need a hug.”
“I think I’m going to take another nap,” and he lets out an elongated sigh. The words “I like you best,” slip out of my mouth, from habit or an unconscious decision. Either way, the phrase feels natural, but doesn’t seem to emerge from my own lips.
“I like you second best,” he jokingly responds, “right after chu-gu-lik.” For a moment I stop feeling my headache and laugh. “I’ll see you soon,” and he hangs up.