Hanna Still half asle ep, I winced against the light. It was morning—barely—late enough for a hint of brightening sky to start se eping along the edge of the shades, but way, way too early to get up. I threw the blanket over my head, buried my face in the pillow, and squeezed my eyes tight. The streets outside were relatively quiet and Will sl ept silently beside me, but I could practically hear my headache. Giving up, I rolled over, fingers searching along the sheets for Will and warm skin and— Oof. That might have been a mistake. I counted to ten, breathing in through my nose while I waited for the room to stop spinning. My stomach was definitely not on board with the change in position. I groaned, squeezing my eyes closed as I managed to sit up. My mouth felt like cotton and I was probably two seconds from losing everything I drank last night, but this . . . okay . . . vertical was definitely the better choice. Will mumbled something and rolled onto his side, and I looked back at him over my shoulder. He was breathing softly, pillow clutched in his arms, sle eping quietly again. His wedding band glinted against the tan of his skin and I reached out, brushing a finger across the cool metal. A week—he’d been wearing that ring for a week, and I was pretty sure I could handle a million more just like this one. Pushing off the bed, I shuffled to the bathroom. I used the toilet and washed my hands, brushed my teeth—thank God —and drank at least a gallon of water straight from the tap. I never wanted to see tequila again. Feeling marginally better, I walked back into the room and looked around, my eyes following the trail of discarded clothing that led from the doorway to the bed. Last night had been crazy . . . I thought. I remembered alcohol—lots of alcohol—our friends, some vague recollection of Will kissing George and my being totally turned on by it? —I would definitely need to get the scoop on that from sober Sara—and Will’s suggestion that I take a teaching job. And like that, my head cleared. I felt my skin start to prickle as I remembered his comments about me living my life in the lab, as if he was so sure that’s what would happen. Why was it okay for him to work long hours? To give his career everything he could? Will had always been supportive and proud of all that I’d accomplished . . . Where had this complaint come from? We got married, yes, but I never signed on to be Susie Homemaker or change who I was. I’d sacrificed my entire life for my career, and I was damn proud of the balance I’d managed to find since meeting and falling in love with and marrying him. Did he have so little faith in my ability to handle both? Annoyed all over again, I walked to the dresser, pulling out clothes and slipping into them as quietly as I could manage. I found my shoes under the bed, and my phone, keys, and ID littered around the apartment and strewn throughout the remnants of last night’s debauchery. I slipped them all into the zippered pocket of my jacket, walked back into the room, and shut off his alarm clock.
I was going for a run; Will could stay home. Just like before that first run with Will more than a year ago—if you can call what I did that day running—I paced back and forth, waiting. Over the year we’d adjusted our route, starting at different points to hit the hills at the beginning of the run on some days, the end on others. Instead of the Engineers Gate at Fifth and Ninetieth, I walked back and forth on the edge of the trail near Columbus Circle. I’m a natural pacer. I did it at home whenever I was stressed about something, and was almost positive I’d worn a path that stretched from the front door of the lab to the opposite wall. When I was little my dad used to say he was going to hook me up to the lawn mower so at least that way he’d get the grass cut, instead of the kitchen rug being trampled to death. Knowing it was possible he’d already be up with Annabel, I’d texted Max as soon as I left the apartment. Thankfully, he was, and had no problem starting our run a little earlier. Though “little” might have been an understatement. It was still mostly dark out—especially here, in the park—the sky smoky and plum colored, the edges glowing brighter and brighter as the sun slowly rose behind the trees. I loved it here this time of morning, when the air was still cool and crisp and there were hardly any people to navigate, nothing to do but shut off my brain and move my body. Will and I had jogged these trails almost every day since that first morning, and were joined by Max and Annabel soon after the little girl was born. He claimed she sl ept soundly on days when he took her out for a jog, but we all knew better. Max loved these moments with his daughter and Sara loved the baby-free time she got in the morning. Today, I heard the wheels of the stroller before I saw Max headed toward me. “Morning, Mrs. Sumner-Bergstrom,” he said, stopping in front of me. And despite my current annoyance with Will, my stomach did a little flip at the sound of my married name. “Morning.” My cheeks warmed as I shifted blankets around and bent to kiss the adorable baby strapped into the elaborate running stroller. “And good morning to you, Miss Anna. How is the prettiest girl in New York? How is she?” Annabel giggled, reaching for the loose ends of my hair and tugging to bring me closer. “Well rested,” Max said. “Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the rest of us in the house.” I let out a dramatic gasp. “Did you wake the hungover adult up, sweet baby?” I asked her, pretending to gobble up her little foot. Max groaned. “Up at the ruddy crack of dawn and then sl ept the whole way here. Happy as a clam now.” “Well wouldn’t you be?” I said, standing. Attempting to make some sense of my hair, I smoothed the tangled strands back with my fingers and used an elastic from around my wrist to secure them on the top
of my head. “She’s got someone pushing her around Central Park and catering to her every whim. We should all be so lucky.” “I’ll agree with you there. Though I imagine William would do the same for you if you asked nicely enough.” “Ha.” I looked to the side, out at the seemingly endless stretch of trees. “Speaking of . . . where is your Will today?” he asked, following my gaze out into the park. “Oh . . . he’s . . . still sle eping,” I said, making a show of dusting off my knees and turning toward the trail. I didn’t miss the edge in my voice . . . I’m sure Max didn’t, either. Will was still asle ep because I wanted a chance to run without fighting the urge to push him into the reservoir. I definitely wouldn’t be mentioning that to Max. “Still asle ep,” Max r epeated, clearly pleased. It didn’t take a genius to know that later today he’d be either congratulating Will or giving him epic shit. “Ready to go?” I asked, and Max nodded, polite enough to ignore my weirdness. We started at the USS Maine statue—Max and Anna at my side— heading down the path that led to the main loop. The trail went from a downward slope to a steady climb up Cat Hill, and I concentrated on the pounding of my feet on the ground, the whir of the stroller’s tires on the pavement next to me, all the while pr eparing for Harlem Hill. Harlem Hill had always been a good barometer of the kind of day I was having. On a decent morning I could make it to the top and still manage a few curse words along the way—just enough to make Will laugh. If my week had been particularly rough, I’d push on with barely a word, brain empty of all but one thought: Run yourself into the ground. Will knew me well enough to gauge my moods, and apparently so did Max. “Whoa, whoa. Slow down there, Bolt,” he said from just behind me. I’d been running—flat-out sprinting along the trail—and poor Max was struggling to stay next to me. “Sorry,” I mumbled, slowing to a walk and waiting for him to catch up. “I sort of forgot you were here. And pushing a stroller. God, I’m an asshole.” Max waved me off and we fell into st ep beside each other again to cool down. “I may not be in as good of shape as whatshisname, but, Jesus, Hanna, you were running like your arse was on fire. What’s wrong?” “I got a little lost in my head,” I said, and it was only once we slowed that I noticed the way my quads were burning, the churning of my stomach. “Ugh, I feel like I’m going to barf.” “Feeling a little rough this morning, I take it?” Max asked, laughing lightly. I groaned. “You could say that.” “And would this be from the tequila or the husband?” “Both.”
He made a sympathetic sound in the back of his throat. Anna started to fuss and Max reached down, adjusting her blankets. “Sounds like there’s a story there.” “I’m not used to being annoyed with Will. We never fight, so maybe that’s why I’m a bit . . . unsettled by it.” “That’s understandable,” he said, moving off to the side and smiling at another man running past us. “Though if I’m being honest, what I heard last night didn’t sound much like a fight to me.” “We get along so well and I’m absolutely not used to him being annoyed with me. My brain misfires when there’s a hiccup like that.” “Hanna, getting married is huge. Finding a new job is huge. Moving is fucking huge. Doing them all together might make you certifiably insane. Give yourselves a break, right?” Nodding, I kicked a rock near my shoe. “I know. It’s just weird when we don’t handle everything easily.” Max shook his head. “I never thought I’d find a couple who fit in such an odd fucking way as Bennett and Chloe . . . but you and Will just might have them beat. Though it is possible you two could be robots. Looking into it, actually.” “Very funny,” I said, and slugged him in the shoulder. “I can’t believe Will thinks I should take a job without any research component,” I added. “Doesn’t he know that I love the lab? Doesn’t he know it’s been my dream my whole life to run a lab?” “Well, he’s arse over tits for you, and being in love turns even the smartest man into an idiot. No doubt you all have some scientific jargon to back that up.” He glanced over at me and barked out a laugh. “You do, don’t you?” “I mean, there’s basic neurochemistry in volved in falling in love—or lust, for that matter—and it has definitely been shown to affect brain function . . .” I realized what I was doing and gave him a guilty grin. “You two really are bloody perfect for each other.” I didn’t say anything and instead looked out at the path in front of us. Max was right; Will and I were perfect together. At least it felt that way, and I’d never been happier in my entire life than I had in the time we’d been together. But my career was important to me, too, and if anyone was going to understand that, I thought it would be him. The lab was important to me. My research was important to me. But so was he. Why couldn’t I have both? “So how are the interviews going, anyway?” Max asked, snagging my attention back into the conversation. We were nearing Columbus Circle again, and the number of people on the trails and in the park had definitely picked up.
“Good,” I told him. “I leave Wednesday for Berkeley.” “Great campus.” “You’ve been there?” He nodded. “I have a few clients that live up that way. It’s gorgeous, so I try to stay an extra night or two when I can—not so much these days,” he added, smiling fondly down at the stroller. “I’ve only been a few times on family trips. It could be nice,” I said. “So, not your first choice, then?” “I don’t really have one yet, to be honest.” The sound of a siren burst through the air a few blocks away, growing louder as it neared the park before fading off into the distance. Once it quieted, I glanced at Max and shrugged, adding, “Think I’m just trying to get through the interviews first. And trying to imagine where Will might want to live.” “Trust me, your husband thinks you hung the fucking stars. You could tell him you’d chosen a school in Antarctica and he’d ask if you were ready to start packing.” “Yeah, I guess so,” I said. “I mean, I know he loves me, of course, but the rest . . . picking where we live? It’s so huge.” “Well, before all this happened—Will, the wedding—where did you see yourself?” I blew out a puff of air, watching a small cloud of condensation form in front of my lips. What did I want before Will? I’d had a plan—I always had a plan—but the days before Will were a little hard to recall. I could see them, but they felt dusty and distorted somehow, dull. “I never really set my sights on one particular school,” I told him. “I’ve always liked Harvard? Caltech, maybe?” “Back home,” he said, and hummed thoughtfully, brows drawn together while he considered it. “Harvard could definitely be interesting. Imagine how often I could remind Will of that time he tried to get a leg over in your parents’ house.” I nearly choked at the word tried. Will did more than try on that trip, and I basically molested him as soon as we walked into my old bedroom. My pulse tripped at the memory of later that night. Looking back on that time, I realized Will had essentially professed his love to me, and I had been too thick—or too lost in the amazing sex on the floor—to hear it. My face flashed hot and I quickly changed the subject. “So it really wouldn’t be a problem then for Stella & Sumner? Us relocating?” Max looked at me like I’d just said something absurd. “Things would be a bit more complicated, but you two need to do what’s best for you.
We’ll make the rest work.” Then he smiled wide. “Benefit of being the bosses.” After leaving Max and Annabel at the park, I wasn’t quite ready to head home and face Will yet. In fact, I wasn’t sure what I would even say to him. Instead, I turned at the corner and headed in the direction of the Fifty-Ninth Street and Columbus Circle station, deciding to take the subway to the lab. There have only ever been two things that felt easy in my life: one was science; the other was Will. Outside my normal circle, I’d never been very good with people. I had a tendency to overshare, and my verbal filter short-circuited ninety-eight percent of the time. But with Will— somehow—it didn’t matter. He found it endearing that I never seemed to shut up, and I never had to be anyone but Hanna with him. It’d always been easy. But last night . . . I wasn’t sure where any of that came from. I knew Will didn’t love my unpredictable hours, but that was part of running a lab. I always thought that as a scientist himself, he understood that. Will wanted me to take on a teaching position, but that was something you did when your career was slowing down, not starting out. I wanted to do research and publish papers, contribute to our broader scientific knowledge. I wanted to make a difference. Wasn’t the entire beginning of our relationship based on his helping me learn to find balance? I’d done it then, so why was he so quick to doubt me now? I unlocked the door and st epped into the dark room, the silence immediately pierced by the sound of crunching glass beneath my shoes. It was just bright enough to see that a shelf near the door had collapsed from where it attached to the wall, its contents spilling out onto the one beneath it and across the floor just below. “Of course,” I muttered, tossing my keys onto the counter and flipping on the light. I regretted it immediately. Glass and papers were strewn across the floor, some smaller shards scattered as far as the other side of the room. And because I was the only one here this early, it looked like president of the cleanup crew would be me. A supply room just down the hall had a broom and dustpan, and a couple of garbage sacks for everything that would have to be taken out. It took longer than I expected to clean up, reorganize, and stack everything somewhere else, but it felt good to have something mindless to do to clear my head. With everything done, I put the supplies back in the closet, took a seat at my desk, and powered up my computer. There were a few emails I needed to answer, some last-minute travel details to finalize, and a set of data I needed to check. There was even another interview request, which I filed away until I could look over my schedule and see where I could fit it in. I hadn’t yet mentioned this one to Will, and for just a second I hesitated, remembering our conversation from last night. But it would be fine. I’d get through them all and we could talk about it when we had actual offers to discuss, rather than getting stressed over a bunch of hypothetical variables.
That settled, I went over to the hood to feed some cells and check some cultures, barely registering that I still hadn’t eaten breakfast or even had a cup of coffee. When I finally resurfaced again, it was to the sound of my stomach growling through the empty room. It was well past lunchtime, and when I looked around for the first time in what had to have been hours, I realized I was still alone. It took a moment to realize why that was: it was Sunday. Everyone else had probably spent their morning eating brunch or watching mindless TV snuggled up to someone in their jammies—i. e., not here, trying to squint through a hangover at numbers that could easily be put off until Monday. Dammit. So maybe Will had a point. The apartment was quiet when I got home. And—I noted—clear of any leftover party debris. I frowned, feeling like a jerk for leaving the mess for him to clean up, and made a mental note to thank him later. I let the door close softly behind me and peeked out into the living room. It still looked a lot like it had before Will moved in, bookcases and books everywhere, family photographs on every shelf, and my dad’s old desk in the corner. But now Will’s books blended with mine: my first real adult couch sat next to his leather chairs in front of the television we’d bought together—our first joint purchase as a couple. The photographs of my family still hung on the wall in the hallway, but his hung right alongside them, soon to be joined by the framed prints from our wedding. Until we started packing for wherever I moved us, that is, and . . . I could barely bring myself to think about that right now. I’d ignored the growing stack of cardboard boxes that had been delivered and seemed to take up more and more of the spare room every day, but I knew I couldn’t avoid them for long. I was nearing the end of my interviews, which meant it was almost time to make a decision, but—ugh—I just wanted to be lost in Will for a few hours. To wipe my brain of everything but the way he felt and smelled and sounded . . . A toilet flushed down the hall, followed by the sound of running water, then the door opening. Footst eps carried along the wooden floors and then Will was there, standing with wide eyes in the doorway. “You’re home,” he said, not moving from where he stood. I placed my keys on the table near the door and slipped out of my shoes. “Yeah, sorry.” “Jesus Christ, Plum,” he said, crossing the room and wrapping his arms around me. “Where in the hell have you been?” I felt myself sink into his body, lost in the familiar, comforting scent of his skin, and hugged him back. “I went running.” “This morning. You went running this morning,” he said, pulling back just far enough to meet my eyes. “I talked to Max hours ago.” I placed my palms on his chest, feeling the solid shape of it beneath my fingers, the heat of his skin against the fabric. “Then to the lab,” I said. “Why didn’t you call? Or answer any of my calls and texts?”
“Oh . . . my phone was in my jacket pocket I guess, probably on silent. I did send you a text saying I’d be gone for a while, though.” My eyes dropped to his neck, and I had to resist the urge to close the distance between us again, bury my face there. He sighed and I watched the way my hands mirrored the movement of his torso. “Hanna,” he said, tired. “I’m sorry, I should have been more considerate.” He nodded. I ran a palm over his stomach. “I was still upset.” Will pulled away and took a seat on the arm of the couch, and waited. “From last night?” “Yeah. I didn’t like that you just assumed I should take a position at a small teaching school.” “Plum, I didn’t assume anything. Is it what I’d prefer? Maybe? Believe it or not, I happen to like you. I like to spend time with you.” He shook his head, laughing a little. “I mean, today is a pretty good example of what I’m talking about.” “I’ll admit I shouldn’t have left for the entire day, but I told you, I needed to think.” “Well, not to be an asshole and point out the obvious,” he said, “but you go to the lab on Sunday all the time. Not just when you need to think. And we were married one week ago.” Oof. Okay, that one sort of hurt. I took a st ep away, unzipped my jacket, and placed it over a chair. “Going in to the lab is my job.” “I know it’s your job, and I love that you take it so seriously and are so fucking good at it. But I’m also trying to express that I want some of your time, too. And I’d like you to take that into consideration when looking at all this. To talk to me about it.” My head fell back and I looked up at the ceiling. “Are we going to argue about this again?” I felt his stunned silence before he said, “What we did last night was not argue. We can discuss something—even heatedly—without it being an argument. That said, what’s wrong with arguing? It doesn’t mean we’re in a bad place just because we’re two people with different opinions about how to handle something.” “If I were a man, would we be having this same discussion? Would a man be asked to take a teaching position over running a large academic lab?” His eyes went wide with shock. “Yes! You’re not seriously saying this has anything to do with you being a woman, are you?” “No, I mean . . . of course not. I know you wouldn’t do that. I just want—I don’t want us to argue about something until we know exactly what we’re arguing about, or whatever! Discussing!” I said, getting flustered. “We don’t even know all the options, so how can we possibly have a logical discussion about it? Can we just wait? Please?”
Will sighed, reaching up to push the hair back from his face. He looked at me with soft, patient eyes, and then nodded, holding out his hands to me. “Come here,” he said, and I took the few st eps toward him. This was what I needed: the closeness, the certainty I felt when wrapped in his arms. Everything else was up in the air, but this, this was my constant. “I missed you,” he said, holding me to him, palm smoothing my hair. “I don’t like waking up without you here, especially with the headache I had this morning.” He pulled back and placed a hand on either side of my face, examining me. “God, that had to have been a tough run.” “Max is lucky I didn’t hurl on him,” I said, turning my head to place a kiss against his palm, and then up, against the back of his ring. “I never want to drink again. I’m pretty terrible at it.” “You are pretty terrible at it,” he agreed, watching me. “But you’re okay now?” “Absolutely okay,” I said. “Very”—kiss—“very”—kiss—“okay.” He sucked in a small breath when I pressed my lips to his wrist, chastely at first, then wetter, sucking, opening my mouth to feel his pulse against my tongue. His reaction came in the form of another sharp inhale, and my eyes flickered up to his. “Yeah?” he said, and I dragged my teeth along his skin, pressed down until his brows lifted a little with the pain. “Right here?” I nodded, st epping back and lifting my shirt up and over my head. His eyes followed the movement and I watched as his features relaxed, every last bit of tension leaving his face. “Right here,” I said. We each knew what the other liked. Will liked it to be a little rough sometimes, and I liked to be guided, told where he wanted me and what he wanted me to do. Will gripped his shirt at the back of his neck and pulled it off, tossing it absently to the couch. “Turn around then,” he said, motioning with his finger. I did what he asked, turning to see his worn leather chair just behind me. I loved that chair, and so did Will. Loved to curl up in it while I worked, my legs tucked underneath me and my laptop balanced on the arm. I loved when Will sat in this chair and I sat in the other and we were both quiet, no words needed as we read or watched TV. And I especially loved when he would let me climb into his lap, burrow my way into whatever blanket he was using, and watch a movie. And despite having had sex on almost every piece of furniture we owned, we’d never done it there, on one of his favorite possessions—the chair he’d taken with him from home to home throughout his adult years. I took a st ep forward. “Like this?” I asked, sinking into the seat, knees pressed to the cushion and facing away from him. “Just like that.” Warm hands unclasped my bra and pulled it from my body. Will’s fingers tickled over my ribs before moving to the waistband of my pants, toying with them for a moment before pushing both
them and my underwear down my thighs to stop at my knees. Cool air moved over my skin and I felt bare for him, exposed. I closed my eyes as his fingers tiptoed back up my spine, counting every vertebra, registering every shiver. When he reached my neck, he slipped his hand into my hair, twisting where it was still loosely knotted on top, gripping it, holding it tight and using it for leverage to push me forward, my torso, my stomach, my breasts curved over the cold leather. “Good,” he murmured, and I was aware of him moving away, of the rustle of fabric as he undressed behind me. I wanted to turn and look, but by the time I’d worked up the courage to do so, the cushion dipped again and he was there, warm along the back of my body. His lips found my shoulder, my cheek. I felt him suck against the skin of my neck, surely leaving a mark. “Love you.” I turned into his kiss and gasped at the juxtaposition of the cool leather on my stomach and breasts and the fiery heat of his body against my back. Will reached between us and took hold of himself, dragging the head of his cock—warm and slightly wet at the tip—between my legs to brush over my clit. Back and forth, back and forth. “Want you to open your legs,” he said, and I did as instructed. “A little more.” I pushed my knees as far as they would go, flush against the arms of the chair. Satisfied, he placed a soft kiss on my nose. “You want this?” he asked, stilling just where I needed him, just the head slipping inside before pulling out again. “Want me to play, or just fuck you?” “Fuck me,” I said, rocking my hips to chase the feeling, to get him to move. “Will.” “Shhh,” he said. “I have you.” He teased me anyway, coating himself in the slickness there before pushing forward. Will had a tendency to lose himself for a few moments when he got inside me, to swear or say my name, to whisper incoherencies into my skin, as if he was so overcome to just be there that he might come at any second. Today was no exc eption, and he groaned against my hair, breath coming out in short, hot bursts as he moved slowly, inch by inch until his pelvis was flush against my ass, his flat stomach pressed to the curve of my spine. “It’s so good,” he said, teeth nipping at my shoulder, hips moving in slow, grinding circles. “So fucking warm around me.” He sucked at my skin and took my breasts in both of his hands, squeezing them, pinching my nipples before sliding one hand down between my legs. I was wet and slippery and his fingers migrated down, right where I wanted them. “There.” “Yeah?” Will asked, and I nodded, whimpering as I felt my body clutch him. I tried to push back, tried to hold him inside me before he pulled out again. We moved together like that, the sound of sex filtering through the room, broken up only by the occasional thump or voices from the people in the neighboring apartments.
He sped up, relentless, and I searched for something to hold on to, some way to anchor myself. I reached behind me, gripping his hip with one hand and draping the other over the back of the chair, my cheek turned to the cool leather. His skin was slick with sweat and I dug my nails in, knowing that would only make it better for him. Will swore, his breath ragged and hot against my back, and I begged, not caring if the people upstairs could hear me, the people on the other side of the walls. “Harder. Harder, Will. Please.” “Fuck, Plum.” He sped up, frantic, and I could hear the slap of his skin against mine, the sound of the chair as the back legs cleared the edge of the carpet and scraped along the wooden floor. “Oh God,” I gasped, “oh . . . Oh—” I closed my eyes, feeling a wave of heat move from between my legs and across the surface of my skin before everything exploded into sensation. His teeth pressed to my neck, and his hands cupped my breasts, and his wild noises told me he was going to fucking come only seconds before he turned brutal and frantic, pushing so de ep into me he was pressed all along the length of my body from thigh to shoulder. We lay naked on the couch, me on my back with Will’s head resting on my stomach. “I’m sorry I left this morning,” I said, curling my fingers through his hair. “I know you said it was fine, but I wanted to say it again.” He looked up, resting his chin near my hipbone. “I know, Plum. And for the record, you’re allowed to be mad and need space.” “I turned off your alarm clock. I wasn’t being very nice.” He laughed before leaning over the edge of the couch, returning with my backpack. “I’m sure we’re going to do or say a few not-nice things to each other over the next fifty years. If they’re all as nefarious as giving each other a couple extra hours of sle ep, we’ll be in pretty good shape.” “What are you doing?” I asked, watching him rifle through the front pocket. He lifted a marker before returning the bag to the floor, and pulled off the cap. “Decorating me again?” He hummed as he began to draw. A tree, roots that started at the edge of my hipbone and moved down, spreading. He filled it in, eyes narrowed in concentration as the fine tip of the marker moved back and forth, right up to the very edges of the design. I lifted my head, peering down my body to get a closer look. “It’s like yours,” I said, motioning to the tree on his bic ep, the roots that wrapped around the muscle. “A little.” “We should really look into getting you some coloring books,” I told him, smiling before letting my head rest back against my arm. “Wouldn’t be quite the same, though, would it?”
I pushed my fingers through his hair again, watching the way the colors shifted in the dying light. I could feel the marker move, smell the ink, and when I looked again, I saw that he was carefully drawing individual leaves. “Now when you go away Wednesday, I’ll still be there,” he said. “You’re always here,” I said, touching the side of his face, tapping it gently so he’d look up at me. His blue eyes were almost black in this light, so open and honest I wasn’t sure I’d be able to walk out the door in the morning, let alone get on a plane and fly to California in three days.