Page 234 of ClickBack

That I understand. I can miss having a father at a game without wanting the man who stayed away sitting in the front row now.

“I’m not asking you to do this for me,” I tell her.

“I wouldn’t. I need you to know that, too.”

“Good.”

She looks surprised.

“I mean that,” I say. “Don’t sign up for something you don’t want because you’re scared I’ll want it.”

“Then you can’t tell me what you think will keep me, either.”

I nod. The agreement costs more than a prettier answer would have.

We stand there with it. There is no part of this I can fix by being certain enough for both of us, and I can feel myself wanting to try anyway.

“I think I need to go home,” I say.

Her head lifts. “Because I don’t know?”

“Because I came in here scared, and now I’m mad at shit you haven’t said.” I let go of the chair. “I need to hear myself without trying to answer you at the same time.”

She looks toward the bag on the counter.

“I asked you over to talk.”

“We did. We need to again.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow. After your last meeting. I’ll call.”

She is quiet, then says, “Don’t make me spend the day wondering if you mean that.”

“I mean it.”

I put the containers in the refrigerator. It gives me something to do while I get myself together enough to face her at the door.

“You should take yours,” she says.

“You can have it.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Me neither. That’s a first.”

She almost smiles. I pick up my fob and turn toward her.

“I love you, Zel.”

“I love you.”

I kiss her forehead. She puts her hand against my side, and leaving is harder with her touching me. I do it anyway, before I turn staying into proof neither of us can give tonight.

At my apartment, there are three boxes beside the dining table and one open in the spare room. Graves has already arranged the furnished rental in San Antonio. The movers will take what I need for the next few months. The rest can wait until I decide where I want to live.

My phone is in my hand. I send Giselle a message.