I really hoped his roofing business took off.

“Okay, I’ll let you go.”

“Talk to you later, Amy.”

“Yeah, Mickey…” and I made a sudden choking noise because I had to physically stop myself from ending that, Love you.

It was a natural conclusion to a conversation with someone you cared about.

But we weren’t anywhere near there.

Or, at least, I figured Mickey wasn’t.

Me, as crazy as it was, I was near there the instant I clapped eyes on Mickey months ago.

“Babe?”

He heard it.

“Just…something caught in my throat. Later, honey.”

“’Bye, Amy.”

We rang off. I went in, and within half an hour found my immunity with Mrs. McMurphy had expired when she said matter-of-factly to me, “Too bad you’re a Nazi. When you’re hung, who’s going to do the vacuuming?”

* * * * *

It was late-ish that evening, after dinner with my son, and Auden was on the couch on the landing, watching TV with his books around him.

I was not being creepy Mom sitting with him watching programs I had no interest in. I was down on the sectional with my laptop, giving him space and sending an update email to my parents (who were still incommunicado with me, something I was alternately thankful for and found concerning).

Olympia had not come. She was over at Polly’s.

I hit send then went back to the website that had the dining room table that was intriguing me. A small shop in New Hampshire. Everything was handmade from local woods. It was amazing. It was pricey. And shipping would be crazy.

But I was thinking I loved it.

Staring at it, I still had that feeling as my phone lying on the seat beside me rang.

I looked to it and saw it was Mickey calling.

I snatched it up, my eyes going to the landing to see nothing. The TV was on and Auden was lounging.

I took the call and put the phone to my ear, setting the laptop aside, saying, “Hey.”

“Hey back. Your boy still there?”

“Yes,” I told him.

“He spendin’ the night?” Mickey asked.

“No,” I replied.

“When he’s gone, text me. When my kids are down, I’ll text you and want you over here.”

Oh no. That didn’t sound good.

“Is everything all right?” I asked.

“Not even a little bit.”

He sounded unhappy.

“Okay, I’ll…we have a plan.”

“Right, and just sayin’, things are tightenin’ up with your kids, you think about when you can introduce them to me so I don’t lose you when you have them, and if I call, you don’t gotta talk to me like you barely know me.”

Yes, he was unhappy.

“We’ll discuss that,” I promised.

“Yeah, we will. Text,” he ordered.

“Okay.”

“Later,” he said then hung up.

I took the phone from my ear and looked back to the couch.

Auden hadn’t moved.