She's prone to inward romantic fits, seizures of the heart that keep her from walking a straight line. In the evenings she is homework and warmth, sitting at tables and laughing with these delightful creatures part her, part him. She marvels at the mixture, the rightness of it in their sense of humor.
She puts off the things she knows she should do and dances around deadlines, all wispy hops and skippy jumps until she is faced with the brick wall they are. Then she stays up all night, drinking diet coke and giving them all the benefit of the doubt, waking to feel relief and a bit of guilt.
She sees in their eyes that they do not care, but that doesn't mean she doesn't get to.