Dad is sick. I'm watching him die slowly.
The thought was in my own voice. It had been in my own voice for a week, and I hadn't let it land.
I built a foundation to fix this exact thing for other people, and I'm finding out, in real time, that fixing it for a stranger and fixing it for your own family aren't the same skill.
The thought arrived complete. I let it consume me.
I pulled out my phone and opened the conversation with Sabrina that didn't exist yet. I typed.
Me: I'm sorry I haven't
I deleted it.
Me: I know it's been
I deleted it.
Me: Are you
I deleted it.
I sat with the screen for a minute. I went back to the last thing she had said to me —If you don't leave in the next ten seconds, I'm going to do something we will both regret— and I typed.
Beau
For the record, I wouldn't mind recreating where we left off last time.
I sent it before I could back out of it.
The phone vibrated.
Sabrina
For the record, neither would I.
I read it twice and put the phone down on the passenger seat. I leaned back and closed my eyes.
I picked it back up.
Beau
Are you working tonight?
Sabrina
Until 1
I waited for a beat, then typed.
Beau
Can I see you when you finish?
The typing dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again, then disappeared.
I stared at the phone in the orange parking-garage light, and I thought, very clearly, that if she said no, I would deserve it.
The phone vibrated.
