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I pick up the white bubble wrap bag and bring it inside, where I rip it open.

It’s a sweatshirt—black and oversized, which gives ample real estate for the blown-up photo of the four leather-clad men posing on the front. I pull it over my head, scoop up my phone, and begin typing as I run for the mirror in the bathroom.

Annalise:

If I die from happiness tonight please let it be known that my last wish is to be buried in this thing.

I snap a selfie and send it, grateful that it takes only seconds to get a reply.

Mackenzie:

It is so bad I couldn’t not send it to you.

I laugh out loud, walking back into the living room and scaring the pigeons sitting on the windowsill.

Annalise:

What did Zee think of the new song?

It’s a very long two minutes before he answers back.

Mackenzie:

He hasn’t had a chance to listen to it yet. He’s been busy. I just need to get him in the right mood.

Two days later, it is an unusually warm November Saturday, so I decide to take a walk through Trinity Bellwoods Park, when a text comes through.

Mackenzie:

So Zee is not a fan of the song. He said the band needs to ignite the crowd, not put them out with lullabies.

My heart feels like it detaches and falls straight to the pit of my stomach.

Annalise:

Well he is wrong. That song is incredible. I’ve listened to it every day since you sent it.

I don’t get a text back, but my phone begins to ring in my hands.

I stare at Mackenzie’s name on my screen and almost don’t answer—thrown off by the shock of moving from text without ample warning.

“Hey.” I finally press my phone to my ear and my hand to my heart, which is beating awfully fast considering we lived together for a month and talked all the time.

“Is this okay?” His voice is raspier than I remember. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

My knees legitimately wobble. I have to brace myself against the trunk of a maple tree for a moment.

“Did I make it weird?” he says when I still haven’t said anything.

“No. Not at all. I just normally have more time to think between texts. My semantic fluency is a little out of practice, so don’t expect any overly witty comebacks.”

He laughs, and I realize how much I’ve missed that sound.

“So Zee is a total asshole,” I say. “And I do prefer saying that out loud versus texting it. It allows me to really put the emphasis on ass.”

He laughs again, and I find myself wondering why we haven’t been doing this all along.

“You really listen to my song every day?” he asks, and there’s a vulnerability to his voice that makes everything inside me ache.