Chapter 10

That stops me, my lover—I haven’t

thought of Dylan as that since he left. Watch yourself,

James,my mind warns. I zip up my jumpsuit slowly, my fingers

numb. You don’t need to want him now. You were doing good,

weren’t you? You need to move on.

And how am I supposed to do that if he’s

calling me again?

But moving on isn’t turning off the backups

so we can talk freely. Moving on isn’t calling him baby—I

didn’t do that last night, did I? Moving on is forgetting the way

we were, the way he looked beneath my sheets first thing in the

morning, the way he would pull me back to the bed as I was getting

dressed and kiss my knee, my hand, anything he could reach without

having to get out from between the covers. “Come back here and love

me,” he’d say, and moving on isn’t thinking about that,

either, it doesn’t help now, he’s not here, is he? Is

he?

No, he’s not, Tony is, he’s waiting for me

and I’m still not sure why. As I pull on my boots, I ask, “What are