“But he gave me another of their friends’ cell-phone numbers. Mia. She was nice enough. Said she saw them about six months ago, trying to get the deposit together for an apartment in Pittsburgh.”

“Why Pittsburgh?”

“Got me.”

Just then three blond Swans, Grace, Agata, and Ruth, pass by on their daily run. They’re the types that go all out, sports bras and spandex shorts and proper running shoes that look like they were designed by NASA. They wave and say hi to Jason and me and leave us in their dust.

“Anyway, maybe if they’re trying to settle down somewhere, they’ll get in touch.”

Jason stops and pulls me into a hug. He’s trying to comfort me. But something about it just makes it all hurt so much worse, and I catch my face starting to sting and I can’t let myself, I can’t let myself get started now, because if I do I’ll have another goddamn ocean gushing out of my face, and that’s the last thing I need.

Sometimes when people hug you, it’s really sweaty, or your bodies don’t fit together very well and there’s something weird about the bend of your arm or where your shoulder has to go. But Jason is perfect; I mean, he’s not perfect. We are. We fit.

I pull away. “I’m feeling pretty optimistic, actually. I don’t know—I just have a feeling they’re going to call. Soon.”

“How long are you gonna wait?”

“It’s not like they’d just leave me and never come back. They’ll call.”

Jason doesn’t believe me. Not in a mean way. He just doesn’t pretend he knows that everything’s going to be fine.

“I just can’t leave until I know they’re okay. If I split, they won’t know how to get in touch with me and I won’t have any way to contact them and then that’s it.”

“I’m sorry.”

I don’t want to talk about it anymore. “So, who’s left?”

“Nick’s got a half O coming from the island yield.”

“My fan club. Great.” I’d hate to see how uptight that guy would be without his ration of weed.

“At least it’s on the way back to your place.”

At least there’s that . . .