I make a couple of decisions in the next twenty seconds. First, I need another job.

There’s a tiny chance I’ll be offered a full-time, paid internship at NBC starting in January, but just talking about my current situation with Finn briefly made me realize I’m just spinning my wheels. I’m useless there and no self-respecting woman of the twenty-first century with no other earthly responsibilities works twelve hours a week.

Second, I can’t bang Finn, but I also can’t spend every free second at my parents’ house. The reality of illness is it’s a fairly miserable¸ isolating business. Mom doesn’t want us hovering, and if she wants anyone, it’s Dad. It’s time to cut the apron strings.

Third, and maybe most important, I need to figure out what I’m doing for dinner now that I’ve shattered Plan A all over the kitchen.

When I’m on my hands and knees, scrubbing the last of the stain from the grout between the tiles, my phone dings on the counter with a number I don’t recognize.

You up for getting a beer or two?

I squint at the screen in the darkening kitchen, typing back, Who is this?

The guy you were just fantasizing about.

Colonel Sanders?

The reply comes immediately. Try again.

I giggle as I type, Ethan? I hit send and quickly type, No! Jake, I’m so sorry!

Finn’s reply comes up after about a minute: Funny.

Finn and I exchanged numbers in Vegas nearly three months ago and I’m strangely tickled that we’ve never used them until now. Are we going to a lumberjack bar? I ask.

I think the word you want is fisherman.

Whatever, I’m just impressed you’re doing the texting. I type back. I look down at my outfit and cringe, before deciding—fuck it. And this is perfect, I’m dressed like you.

I’ll be there in twenty.

I run upstairs, kiss my parents goodbye, and head out of the house, diving into my car and hoping to beat Finn back to my place. I don’t want him to know I wasn’t home. I don’t know why, but maybe it’s because right now—and shockingly—Finn Roberts is my happy place; just being around him makes me feel better, and part of it has to be that he never asks me, “How are you feeling? How is your mom? Hanging in there?”

She’s such a fighter.

She’s so beautiful.

So young.

I can’t imagine how this must be for you.

Strangely, Finn is the one who probably could imagine how this is for us, and it’s a relief to not have to face it when I’m with him.