“Right.”

I decide to tell him the truth. Test the waters.

“I’m fairly certain I dislocated his shoulder,” I say. “Not on purpose. I pushed him, and it happened. I think.”

He nods. He doesn’t appear to be alarmed by this information.

“Then he tells me he only left because Scarlett kicked him out. Something she just failed to mention. And either she has a valid reason that she isn’t sharing with me, the closest person to her, or it was a strategic omission to make herself more sympathetic.”

“Why would she do that?” he asks, running the back of his hand across my cheek.

“I guess she knows how much I hate being back here. Maybe she thought if she was honest with me, I wouldn’t come? I don’t know. Doesn’t really make sense. Nothing makes sense.”

“Is it really that bad?” he asks.

“What?”

“Coming back here?”

I look away from him.

“Things happened here,” I tell him. “Things I don’t care to revisit.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry about that.”

It’s too serious. Too real a moment.

“Now do you understand the hot dogs?” I ask him. “I feel like I smell like hot dogs. Do I smell like hot dogs?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “Definitely. A lot.”

He’s telling me the truth. I thought he might lie to spare my feelings.

Honestly, I’m glad that he didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” I say, nestling into his shoulder. Smelling him. His smell is the best smell.

“That’s okay,” he says. “I don’t mind. Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“I’m sorry you had such a shitty week,” he says. He does this thing where he massages my scalp with his fingertips. It’s the greatest. “And you shouldn’t feel bad about Matty. You didn’t know. There’s also just something really punchable about that dude. I don’t want to condone violence, but at the same time, kind of wish I’d been there.”

“There is something punchable about him, isn’t there?”

“He’s smug.”

“I’m smug.”

“Yeah, but it works on you.”

“I know,” I say, sliding down and using his thigh as a pillow. He plays with my hair.

Maybe there is hope. Maybe there is a horizon.

“I was so mad,” I tell him. “I’ve been mad a lot lately.”

“At Matty or just in general?”

“Well, my mom’s a factor, for sure. But beyond that, I don’t really know.”

It’s not a lie. Not exactly. I’m being as honest as I can, telling him as much as possible without getting into the furry specifics.

“It’s kind of worrying me, my anger,” I say.

I watch. I wait for some hint of disgust at this confession.

“I think having some anger is probably healthy, to a certain extent. There’s plenty to be mad about.”

“Do you ever get angry?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Everyone gets angry.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you mad before.”

“I’m usually pretty quick to skip to sad,” he says. “If something’s bothering me, I just shut down. Get quiet. I don’t yell. It can be frustrating for people close to me.”