Room 422, the Arms Hotel, Sunday evening
Something had to be done. There was all this tension in the air every time George Michael was in the room with her. Her failure to say those three words on Friday had haunted her for a second night. After her phone call last night, Mary asked herself what Delinda would do.
That's why Mary was wearing an apron and nervously checking on the chicken she had roasting in the oven. The table was set, the candles were lit, and more importantly, Gunther was nowhere to be seen. It had been years since Mary had tried to cook a full meal on her own, but it was looking like she had actually pulled it off.
[For the boyfriend and up early for SP.]