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By the bed, I take out my phone.

My stomach drops.

Send a car for me when you get here. And fix my flight home, she says.

The world lights up and electricity bursts through my veins. The dull, pressing ache in the back of my neck I’ve had for weeks—months—disappears. That buzz wasn’t from liquor because it bursts. I shove my phone in my pocket and start scooping everything up and throwing it in my suitcase. The paperwork I just sorted through carefully is dumped into my laptop case. I grab my charger, slinging it around my neck, and leave the room with everything in tow.

What is this? I don’t know.

But tonight, I get to feel her magic. It’s worth it, even if this time really is the last.

I’m in the Uber when it hits me that I really did it, after months, weeks, days. In less than twelve hours, I’ll be between the sheets with my mouth on hers, my hands in her hair. The streetlights fly by in a harsh blur. My driver is quiet, which I appreciate. All I hear is the thumping of my heart.

My phone rings, startling me. I flip it, swiping.

“Hey, Marion.”

“Hey,” she says tiredly. “You busy?”

“I’m hoping to be. What’s going on?”

“I just talked to Lenny a few hours ago. He’s a little pissy. Said you snarked him about not answering his calls.”

Releasing a sigh, I lean back. “Yeah, I did.”

“You alright?”

For a second, I consider lying. But Marion is the closest thing I have to a mother, and she’s always been a very good friend.

“I don’t know,” I say finally. “I’m having trouble.”

“With what?”

I clear my throat. “The girl I was with.”

“Oh, honey.”

My throat won’t clear out, even when I try again. “It was supposed to be a hookup, but I’m not over her.”

“But what’s stopping you?”

“She wants to be in the industry. She’s looking at the agency in the future, maybe.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, it’s complicated.”

There’s a long pause. We’re getting closer to the airport, and the streetlights are few and far between. Up ahead is a long line of brilliant white overhead lights. A plane skirts by overhead.

“Is she any good?” Marion asks.

“Yeah, she’s got what it takes.” I sigh. “That’s what makes it worse. I could help her, but we all know that sometimes, when I help, I end up hurting people.”

Marion’s quiet; I know her well enough to visualize the way she’s pursing her lips in disapproval. She always does that when I’m hard on myself. We’ve already been through this conversation a million times since Coen had his episode.

In my head, in my rational mind, I know it wasn’t my fault.

In my heart, I’m not convinced.