“Chani, Chani, Chani,” he said. “Hel-lo.”

“Hello,” I’d said.

“You’re still in New York, right? New Yooooooooork. New Yoooooooork. Hell of a town!”

It had been surreal, listening to Gabe Parker drunkenly sing to me from wherever he was.

“You sound like you could use a glass of water,” I’d said.

“Well, I am thirsty,” he’d said.

I’d heard the clink of ice and liquid, but I’d been pretty sure it wasn’t water he kept drinking. He’d coughed a little, and my heart had felt like a wet rag being rung out. Heavy and tight.

“Chani,” he’d said.

“Yes,” I’d whispered. “Gabe, I’m here.”

“God. Your name. Your eyes. Like that cat, you know? Tick tock, tick tock.” He’d laughed. “Bet you don’t even remember. But I do. Remember Woody Allen? I met him, you know? Well, sort of. I saw him at a thing. Didn’t meet him. Didn’t want to meet him. Asshole. Asssssssssshole.”

I’d heard him take a long drink.

“Whoops,” he’d said. “Time for a refill.”

“No,” I’d said. “That’s not a good idea.”

“You know what’s not a good idea?” he’d asked.

There was a long silence.

“Gabe?”

“Huh?”

It had been easy to picture him—handsome eyes, heavy and hooded.

“Did you see it?” he’d asked.

“See what?”

“You know.” He’d sounded annoyed. “You know.”

“The play?” That had been the last time we’d seen each other.

“Noooooo.” The word had been long and drawn out. “Bond. I bet you didn’t. You don’t like Bond. I know. I read about it.”

“Gabe—”

“You were nice. Wrong, but nice. I shouldn’t have been Bond. You know it. The world knows it. They should have picked Ollie. I’m wrong. I’m all wrong. I deserve this. I deserve it all.”

At the time, I hadn’t known what he was talking about. It wasn’t until afterward, when I checked Twitter and discovered that “Gabe Parker” was trending, that I saw the Ryan Ulrich video.

“You need to drink some water,” I’d said. “Please? Just one glass?”

“We were a good team, though,” he’d said. “Running Pyramid. You were good. You got it. You got me. Dream team, right? We haven’t played in so long. It’s been soooooooo long. You know? You know.”

He paused and for a moment, I thought that he had hung up.

“Gabe?”

“Data was your favorite, right? Yeah. Yeah. He was. I like Data. But all these human feelings he wanted? Overrated. Over. Rated. Who needs them?”

I’d sat down on my stoop. It had been cold, but I didn’t go inside. The last thing I’d wanted was for Jeremy to ask who I was talking to.

After a while, it seemed as though Gabe had forgotten I was even on the line with him.