He's talking, and the words are all wrong. Which makes it worse.
Because his voice sounds absolutely right. It never stops sounding right.


She doesn't know how she got back there, but her back is against the bathroom door and her jaw is half-locked by the time he stops. Her expression a torn too many things. Pain. Denial. Confusion. Because it's not right. None of it is right. Her mom did tell her, but he'd known before she had, and there hadn't been any yelling. There hadn't ever been another word. She could never even remember exactly what his last word had been before her Mother dragged her off to tell her.

Something simple, she was sure. Like a yeah, for promising she'd be right back, really. But she'd never been willing to step back into her memories, or pull them out, to be sure. To touch the last second when she thought she'd known who he was, who and what they were, had always been, might be as long as the long road gave them.




There are too many memories in her head, and his words are still in her ear.

It's too close and too far, when she asks, "Did you want to?"