All of a sudden, everything just seems a lot less complicated than I’d made it out to be. So what if I do go to his show? I don’t need to make a decision about how I feel before then. I could just go, and support him, and figure everything out later.

“I need a little more time to think,” I say in the end.

“Well… not to add any pressure or anything, but the show’s this Saturday,” she says, wrapping her arm around mine. “Darryl’s coming, too, you know?”

“He is?”

“Yeah, and…” She looks away from me. “Let’s maybe not tell him about what happened today?”

“Of course,” I say. “I won’t tell anyone.”

From the corner of my eye, I see that she’s smiling. “If you’re still wondering… that’s the reason why I called you and not anyone else,” she says. “You’re the person I trust the most.”

I pull her arm a little closer to me, smiling as well. Suddenly, I feel happier than I’ve been in a while. As I walk through Central Park arm in arm with Kimmie, everything feels normal. Everything feels okay. Everything feels exactly how it should be.

21

AS THE WEEK GOES BY AND WE get closer to Adam’s big night, I start to imagine a million different scenarios in my mind—what would happen if I go to the play? What would happen if I don’t? What’s it gonna be like to see Adam again after everything that’s happened?

At night, I have trouble sleeping. The AC in Jorge’s apartment isn’t that great, so even when it’s cranked up as high as it can go, the air still feels hot and muggy. Ellie cries for a few hours each night, probably because she’s too hot to sleep, and while I lie awake staring at the ceiling, I can’t help but wonder if Sophie is also awake.

I’m starting to think that, between worrying about my sister, trying to decide whether to go to Adam’s opening night, and Ellie’s crying, I’ll never be able to get a good night’s sleep again in my life. And that wouldn’t be such a problem if the exhaustion wasn’t starting to affect my ability to get my work done at the bodega.

On the Thursday before Adam’s debut, after I almost hand a few customers the wrong change, Erika has to offer to take over for me at the cash register.

“Are you okay, Matt?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say, stifling a yawn. “Just tired.”

“You could go home, you know? I can handle the bodega on my own.”