“You’re impossible,” she says, sighing. “Let me live vicariously through you.”

“I’ll hang out with him but I’m not promising anything else,” I say, mouth full.

I don’t know why I keep eating this bread. What I could really go for is a burger.

“Fine, that’s fair,” she says.

She holds up her glass of milk, and I meet it with mine.

“What are we cheers-ing?”

“Your impending marriage to Ian Pedretti.”

I roll my eyes so hard, I get dizzy.

“On to more important things,” I say, leaning toward her. “How bad do I smell?”

She generously lends me her nose. She gives me two sniffs, then says, “It’s not great.”

“I should shower but I’m being lazy. What should I do about the bandages? You think I can take them off?”

“Text Seth,” she says. “You might need to wrap them in plastic. I can help if you want.”

“I don’t want to Saran Wrap myself like a cheap sandwich,” I say. “Besides, that sounds like too much effort. I’m over it.”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “That this happened to you. I’m sorry.”

It’s too direct. It unleashes something inside me. I’m in danger of tears.

I clear my throat. “It’s not a big deal.”

She reaches over and covers my hand with her hand.

Desperate to change the subject, I go for the low-hanging fruit. “Honestly, Ian does look pretty good. Aged into himself.”

—

Later, Scarlett falls asleep on the couch while we’re marathoning episodes of The Twilight Zone. The dog is also asleep, paws on Scarlett’s lap. I get up quietly and sneak out to the back patio to vape. I sit on the concrete, surrounded by dying flowers, letting the silk-soft rain slowly soak my clothes.

I admire the night. The rain clouds amble away, leaving behind an exceptionally clear sky, an extravagance of stars.

I’m used to the sky above the city, where there’s so much light pollution the stars are just rumors. When their shine finally finds you, its authenticity is impossible to determine. Through all the haze it could be an airplane or a sparkle in your eye, courtesy of your last sixteen-dollar cocktail.

Not here. Here when the stars shine, they shine beyond doubt, with diamond clarity. There are so many of them. Who knew?

It’s a beautiful sky. It’s the sky that I grew up under, that I must have taken for granted. One of the few redeeming features of this place that I swore I’d never come back to.

Not that I’m back back. It’s six months.

I puff on my vape, and when I exhale, I follow the smoke up, up, and there’s the moon, high and silver and smug as a motherfucker. The sight of it rattles my bones with such violence, but I can’t look away. Because I can see its face. And it can see mine. It sinks itself into my eyes and it drags me toward it, demanding obedience. A mad mother.

I’m standing now. My side stings. There’s a sudden fuming beneath the bandages. It shouldn’t hurt like this. Why does it hurt like this?