You really must stop texting me and everyone else at the party. We regret that we are eating this delicious pie without you. We know you want to be here. We know that if you weren’t saving the world—yes, actually saving the world in a way that only Joss Whedon could chronicle—you would be here. You would be here eating this deliciously sour, succulent, fruity pastry. Yes, the crust is as tender and buttery as you remember (with just a bit of saltiness). You would be here with your absolutely sensational, fun-loving sister eating a slice or two on these lovely cut crystal plates. You would be here with your almost as pie-obsessed as you nephew who dropped whatever he was doing to hightail it over here and texting all the way to wait for him. Maybe one of us should text Doris. Andrew texted to say he’ll be late. Don’t worry, we’ll save a slice for him.
Josine and Emily have put their phones away, you can’t reach them anymore. So did Colleen. Sanford would text you back, but he’s busy (eating pie). Alice is texting her mother a picture of her slice. Atticus is too young to have a phone and her dad is just delighted to be allowed to attend (because the tennis twins are away being geniuses). He’s just just admitted that his wife doesn’t read his texts. So don’t tell him about the pie snapchats.
Now Colleen is advising us that the next time we ride the swimming horses in Chappaqua, we really should wear clothing.
We really do miss you. But stop texting.