Page 115 of Smoke and Glitter

Instead I start having tomorrow's conversation without Sam.

In one version, he apologizes and gets halfway to what he means before I help him the rest of the way. In another, he chooses the wrong word and I replace it for him because I can see the better one sitting right there. By the end of it I've given him three openings, two recoveries and at least one sentence he has never actually said.

I turn onto my side and stare at the phone on the nightstand.

The pattern is suddenly impossible to miss.

What I do when I'm nervous. Get there first. Make the difficult part easier. Figure out what everyone needs and hand it to them before they have to struggle for it.

Even him.

I reach over and turn the phone facedown without opening it.

Tomorrow, Sam gets to bring his own words. If he goes quiet, I can let the silence belong to him instead of rushing in to make it comfortable. If he says almost enough, I can listen without supplying the rest.

I don't need to make him fail.

I'm just done helping him pass.

The lamp goes off.

It takes a while, but eventually I stop rehearsing long enough to sleep.

Chapter twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-Three

Autumn

Sam texts me the address at eight-thirty.

It's a coffee shop in Pilsen, small enough that when I walk in at ten there are only six tables and one of them is occupied by a woman working through a stack of papers with three different highlighters.

Sam is at the table farthest from the door.

He sees me before I finish taking off my sunglasses. His chair scrapes lightly against the floor when he stands, and for a second we both seem to forget that standing has not solved the problem of what to do with our hands.

"Hi."

"Hi."

He gestures toward the empty chair across from him. "Do you want coffee?"

"I'll get it."

Something flickers across his face before he nods and sits back down.

I order at the counter. A few months ago, Sam would've had my drink waiting, made exactly how I like it. Part of me misses that. Another part is relieved to walk back carrying something I chose for myself.

Sam has both hands around a black coffee he doesn't appear to have touched. I slide my coat over the back of the chair and sit across from him.

There are plenty of things I could say to help us start: something about Summer, the lamp, London or the woman behind me aggressively highlighting what appears to be a divorce agreement.

I leave the silence alone.

Sam rubs his thumb along the cardboard seam of his cup before looking at me. "I was trying to figure out where to start on the drive over."

"How'd that go?"