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I laugh as I reach for the door handle, another message appearing on the screen before I can put my phone away.

Old Man

How’d it go?

My hand stills on the door handle because I’ve been trying not to ask myself the same question since I walked out of the testing center. There were sections that felt better than the last time I took it, and I answered enough questions without second-guessing myself that I know all the work I put in made a difference. But none of that tells me what number will show up when my score comes back.

I have no idea.

The typing bubble appears, disappears, then comes back.

How many answers did you change?

I think back over the sections I can still remember clearly enough to count, although I stop myself before that turns into another excuse to pick apart the entire test.

Less than I wanted to. More than you’d approve of.

His response comes quickly enough that I can picture the smug look on his face.

Did you trust yourself?

More than I used to.

Good girl.

My body immediately remembers exactly what Jubal sounds like when he says those words, along with the rough edge in his voice and the way his attention settles so completely on me that praise from him never feels casual. Heat rushes through me before I can stop it.

“Oh, you asshole.”

I type the more socially acceptable version.

You’re awful.

And yet you keep texting me.

My thumb stills above the keyboard because the obvious comeback tangles with the irritating fact that he’s right. But another message appears before I can come up with one.

Gotta go. Try not to spend the rest of the day figuring out your score before they give it to you.

I smile as I slide my phone into my bag, resenting how easily he figured out exactly what I was going to do while knowing he’s right. Whatever score I earned already exists; picking apart every question between now and finding out what it is won’t change it.

When I call Dad, he’ll want to know how I feel about the test. But I don’t have a better answer for him than I did for Jubal. The exhaustion I managed to ignore all morning catches up with me soon after, and the rest of the day passes without me doing anything that requires my brain. Jubal doesn’t text again until I’m getting ready for bed, when my phone lights up on the bathroom counter while I’m brushing my teeth.

This hotel has six pillows on the bed, and every single one of them is useless.

A laugh escapes around my toothbrush before I pull it out of my mouth and reach for the phone.

I’m devastated for you. Thoughts and prayers.

I knew you’d understand.

Still smiling, I set the phone down to finish brushing my teeth. His typing bubble appears while I rinse my mouth, disappearing once before another message takes its place.

What are you doing?

I finish rinsing my mouth before answering.

Getting ready for bed. Some of us have responsibilities.