It's hard to believe that we once lived in a little old apartment above a law office. When I moved in, you tried to dress it up a bit by adding lace curtains and a fake plant or two. I could tell by the way your sheets pilled that they weren't an acceptable thread count. You didn't mind that I upgraded them. I tried to open the windows but they were painted shut. I asked for some fresh air so you spent the better part of one afternoon with a hammer and screwdriver prying them open. We couldn't afford a large grill, so we set a tiny charcoal grill on the rooftop and enjoyed shish kabobs out there. I worked as a life guard at the local pool and you worked at an iron foundry. In the summer evenings, I lay in bed with you, ate avocados with lime and read aloud to you The Catcher in the Rye. It was then that you told me you wanted our first son to be named Holden. We had no ATM card. We had a metal filing cabinet with a bank envelope full of cash. When we neede