“Cocaine, Molly, dildos,” he said. “What else?”

“I dunno. I think that’s all we need.”

“Okay.” He came to a full stop. “What’s wrong?”

“Huh?”

We were at the very middle of the zebra line. As the honking and yelling began, I was removed from the lake and brought back to New York, where Ethan stood in front of me, ignoring his surroundings as much as I had been but only because his attention was fully directed at me as he nervously waited for me to reply. I looked around and shook my head, took his hand, and led the way to the curb.

“Don’t do that!” I scolded him.

“I’m surprised you noticed.” He raised both arms in frustration. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “I just—I dunno where I was just now,” I lied again.

He looked around, spotted a coffee shop with absolutely zero difficulty, and started walking over toward it. I followed him inside as he proceeded to find a table.

“Do you want some water or something?” he asked, sitting down.

“I’m okay,” I told him, lying yet again. “I’ll get us some coffee.”

I turned and went to stand in line, leaving my phone at the table. The barista took my order and wrote my name on two cups. After I gave him my card, I slowly made my way over to the far end of the counter. I couldn’t bring myself to look at our table, so I just waited until some girl called out, “Tomász.” I took both of his drinks and went back to Ethan, finding he still had the same concerned look etched across his face.

“Therapy was kind of…a lot,” I said, placing his salted caramel mocha in front of him.

“I can see that.” He was trying so hard not to seem angry, when he had every right to be. I had ignored him for God knows how many blocks.

“Seeing Marcy was kind of—”

“—too much?”

“—sad,” I admitted, trying so hard to look okay.

I hated the idea of him thinking he was doing something wrong, but even more, I hated letting whatever frustration or anger I was feeling out on him. So I kept running every sentence in my head before twisting them into something that could make sense, making sure to double-check I wasn’t being such a fucking prick.

“Do you want to go home?” he asked kindly.

“I think I should. I’m afraid I’m—I’m not the best company right now.”

“Sorry, but—that’s not what I asked, babe. Do you want to go home?” he calmly repeated, and with such warmth.

I shook my head. “I want to stay with you, but—”

“But what?”

“It’s not a good day, Ethan.”