I shake my head. “I tried to do that the other day with someone, and it didn’t go well. I think I should stick to my general policy, which is to talk about a problem after I’ve solved it.”

I’ve been refusing to take Micah’s calls. I bet he’s terrified I’m going to tell Nah. I prefer to make him sweat a little. He deserves it. And I need to figure out what to do.

“Well, I’ll go through the whole table, if you need me to. All one hundred eighteen smiles. I might need an espresso shot or two to do it, but I’m ready.”

I really like him. But I don’t want that to influence my decision. If I stay in Boston, it will be for Nah.

“That won’t be necessary,” I say. “Though I bet you could charge for that performance. Besides, as soon as Nate’s here, I’ll have to get to work.”

“Fair enough. Offer still stands, though. If you need it.”

A customer comes in from the main room and Ben gives him a refill, then turns back to me. “So. Annapolis interview prep? Nate said it’s coming up—after Halloween, right? First week of November?”

“Yes. About two weeks from now. Keeping tabs on me?”

“I’m a curious fellow, is all.” There is a wink in his voice.

I run my finger around the rim of the coffee mug. “Do you remember when Nick Hague’s mission got aborted? It was all over the news.”

Ben nods. “They crash-landed, right?”

“Yes. The cosmonaut he was with had to bail on their rocket just after launch. It was supposed to be Nick’s first mission in space. He waited five years after completing NASA’s astronaut candidate program to go up there. That’s how long he trained.”

“Sucks.”

I nod. “He got lucky and hitched a ride a few months later and took all these great photos from the ISS, but there are astronauts who have to abort the only mission they’ll ever have a chance to go on. Funding, timing, problems with your crew, getting sick—anything can keep you on the ground.”

Before the wave, I thought that was my worst nightmare. My worst-case scenario in all of life. It’s not. I know that now.

Ben crosses his arms, tilts his head. He’s observing me like I’m a faceted geode he’s checking out in the field. Or whatever geophysicists spend a long time studying.

“Mae. Can I say something?”

I think I will not like what he has to say. “Of course.”

“I didn’t know your parents—obviously. But I think they’d be really happy for you, if you got Annapolis. It’s your dream, right?”

“Can we talk about something else?”