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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.