“Oh, it’s Iz? That’s what you call him?”

That was not low-key anything.

“That’s what all his friends call him, yes,” she says, her voice slowing, stiffening. “Did you want to ask me something, Ezra?”

“I saw a post on Instagram.”

“The Shade Room? Yeah. I heard about it. Somehow, I didn’t peg you as a Shade Room kinda guy.”

“I’m not.” I pause, give myself a second to get my shit together better. “Are you seeing him? Or…do you want to see him?”

“I’m not seeing him, no. Our interests intersect, and we’ve known each other for years. He has a girlfriend.”

“The Shade Room didn’t mention that.”

“He’s very…private.” She chuckles. “I actually think he’s a little self-conscious about it. She’s younger than he is and used to be his TA back in the day.”

I’d feel like an idiot if it wasn’t for the fact that my impulsive, jealous phone call means I get to talk to her.

“I pre-ordered your book.” Her voice is warm. My arm holding Mai is asleep. I’m so exhausted I can barely keep my eyes open, and I still have a shit ton of work to do before I can sleep, but I’d stay on the phone with Kimba all night if I could.

“Thanks. That’s you and my mom. One step closer to a bestseller.”

“I’m excited for you. Proud of you.”

“How’s the campaign going? Or campaigns. Mona says you’re running a few.”

“Well, obviously, Congressman Ruiz is our main concern, but we did take on a few smaller races. Nothing we can’t handle.”

“Seems like a tight race. I mean between Ruiz and Colson.”

“Very much so. One of the tightest, hardest I’ve ever been in. Colson’s tough and plays dirty. We’re in the fight of our lives.”

“I have no doubt you’ll figure it out.”

“I hope so. And you? How are things there? Besides the sickness.”

“Good.” I hesitate. “I found a house nearby.”

The silence from the other end comes alive with a dozen questions she doesn’t voice, but I know are there.

“It needs a lot of work,” I go on, “but it’s just one street over so I could still be around for Noah and Mai, close to the school.”

“Oh. That’s…that’s great. I didn’t realize you—”

“I told you I would move out.”

“I know you did.”

“I miss you.” The truth makes its way up from the deepest parts of me and shows in my voice. “It’s almost unbearable sometimes.”

“I know,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “I miss you, too. I—”

“Kimba, what the hell?” a female voice demands from her side of the call. “You just leave the field in the middle of a battle to take a call? We need you.”