I run a place now where we calculate cost eleven times a day, out loud, on a form, in front of people.

It’s the first thing we do. It’s the most respectful thing in the building.

Love calculates. Of course it calculates — my mother sat down and worked out to the dollar what she owned and what I needed, and the two numbers matched, and that is not a coincidence, that is what she went and made true.

Love calculates. It just doesn’t stop when the number comes back bad.

Down the hall, my mother is calling my name, which means the eleven o’clock is in room two and has been waiting four minutes, and she has opinions about that.

End of Part Two.