Ben runs a finger across the counter’s scarred wood, watching me. Those three words I haven’t said hover in the air between us. Ten days since my birthday, since that night he climbed through my window.

“I get that you’re worried about Hannah,” he finally says. “And you should be. It’s really scary, what’s going on with her. And you’re a great sister. I don’t want to stand in the way of that.”

“Thank you.” I rest my hand on his arm, and it feels so good to touch him. I think the social scientists are correct about the need for human contact. “I know I’m not being fair—trying to be with you and sort this out all at the same time.”

I did warn him. But then he brought in Heisenberg and wormholes.

“I told you: I’m patient. And you did say you needed space. But.” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “I don’t think you’re being fair to yourself. Mae, you need to have a life. It’s not healthy—”

I think we are about to have our first fight.

“Ben, my sister is very sick. I’m all she has.” I look around, but no one seems to be paying attention to us. It’s finals week—everyone has better things to do than eavesdrop on the barista and his girlfriend. “You’re an only child, and both your parents are alive. Nobody in your family has a serious disease. I don’t think you understand what I’m dealing with! I can’t just frolic around with you all the time.”

I’ve hurt him, I can tell. I am SO BAD WITH WORDS.

“I wish I could explain with numbers,” I say. “I don’t mean to be rude about it—”

“I wasn’t talking about me when I said you need to have a life. I know where I rank on your list of priorities. And I’m right where I should be, all things considered.” Ben clears his throat. “I want you to go, Mae.”

I freeze. Is he breaking up with me? I stare at him, and he must know what I’m thinking, because he reaches over and takes the mug out of my hands and then takes my hands, kisses the palm of the one that’s shaking the most. Because I hold him. He’d said that before. I hold him in the palm of my hand.

“I meant Annapolis,” he murmurs.

I close my eyes. Breathe. The feeling I had when I thought he was breaking up with me: hunger.

“I thought you’d be happy I was staying,” I say. “Long-distance relationships don’t usually work out.”

His lips turn up. “I’m in love with a future astronaut who’s going to be four hundred kilometers above Earth. I’ve had to make my peace with the whole long-distance thing.”