“I want to do right by the miracle.”

“What … what does that mean?”

A ghost smile. His eyes, those gray-and-gold swirls, meet mine. “This famous scientist was giving a talk a couple years ago—I saw it online last night. And he said that we have a responsibility to be the best version of ourselves we can be. Whatever that is. Because it’s so insane how a very specific set of circumstances brought the atoms that make you together. All the things that had to happen for you to exist. You know? And he said, ‘We have to do right by the miracle. The miracle that is us.’” Drew shrugs. “I looked at the pills on my desk and … I was done.”

“My dad would have really liked you,” I say. His eyes widen, and this expression I can’t make out flies across his face, but it’s gone before I can name it. “Apart from the selling-me-drugs thing.”

He nods. “Yeah. I’m a bastard for that.”

“Drew. No. No. It’s been my choice. I’ve practically forced you to sell to me.” I try to smile, to not look shattered. “So your question. For the tarot. I’m guessing it was about, like, the rest of your life, right? Life after dealing.”

He takes in a shuddering breath, then his eyes slide to mine, hands gripping the counter. The way he looks at me—suddenly I know his question. The shape of it. What he wants.

“Hannah, I—”

Micah. Micah.

“I should go soon.” I glance at the clock on the stove. “It’s … late.”

He watches me for a moment, then nods. “So this is the last time we hang out.”

“What?”

“Because I’m not, you know. Fulfilling my role. This is it, right?”

The vacuum No Drew suddenly opens up inside me is like being held in a glacier’s hand. And I realize: He is the only deep breath I take.

I close my eyes, squeeze away the new set of tears. “Yeah. Totally. I mean, I knew that.”

Drew starts forward. “Wait. I didn’t—”

“Thanks for … I’ll see you. Around.”

I burst into tears. Jesus fuck, can I just be emotionally stable for once in my stupid, pointless life? I reach, blind, for my coat, my purse.

“What did I do? Just. Hold on—Hannah.”

“I’m fine! The beer—emotional. Ignore me.”

“Ignore you.” He’s standing there, looking at me like Micah looks at me, like I’m too much, too much.

I can’t carry you.

I nod. “I get it, Drew. I do. You want to … be the miracle. Do right by it. Like you said. And I’m just. Just. Just Hannah. Right? You want to, like, be something now.” I start laughing, I don’t know why. “Not the kind of person who’d steal their dead father’s Vicodin.”

“That’s not—”

“You can’t carry me. I get it.”