Wyatt vanishes back into the hallway, going up the stairs again. I change into the clothes quickly so that there’s no chance of one of Wyatt’s moms or their little sister walking downstairs and seeing a half-naked teenager they don’t recognize standing in the living room.

I make the bed, biting back tears. Because I’m not going to cry.

I’m not.

Except I can’t keep it back.

I fucked up things even worse somehow. It was foolish to think that just coming here would solve things, that what I said to Wyatt could be magically undone by me just showing up.

I should’ve known better.

But I didn’t.

Because I never know better.

Friday: April 22

When I open my eyes, there’s a child staring at me.

She looks like an adorable little kid straight out of a sitcom or something, with dark brown skin, and her hair pulled into little puff balls on top of her head. She’s even wearing pajamas that have the sisters from Frozen on them.

For a second, I think that I’ve got to be dreaming.

Why would there be a child here? How’d she get into my hotel room? What’s happening?

Then I remember that I’m not in a hotel room—not yet anyway.

“Hi,” she says. When she opens her mouth, I can see that one of her front teeth is missing.

“Hello.”

“Who are you?” She leans on the coffee table.

“What a rude thing to say to someone so early in the morning.” I’m mostly joking—I’ve never known how to talk to kids. They’re just so … small. And weird. I stare at her. “Who are you?”

“Are you Wyatt’s boyfriend?”

“Why would you—”

“Lana, why are you bothering the nice man?” a voice comes from the kitchen, followed by this very tall white woman with tied-back blond hair. She’s got a bowl in one hand while she whisks with the other.

“He started it!”

“I can assure you that I did not,” I mutter, sleep heavy on my voice, even to my own ears. I sit up, staring at the house in front of me. It’s a lot nicer looking in the light; there’s a lot of color. The little girl, Lana, grabs the remote and takes the spot at the end of the couch, open now that I’ve moved my legs.

She turns to Netflix, turning on one of the Pokémon shows.

“What’s your name?” Lana asks me.

“Neil.”

“I’m Lana.”

“I heard.” I look around a little more. There are more pictures on the wall than I originally thought there were. A few more toys strewn around that I’m guessing belong to Lana. Or maybe Wyatt still likes playing with Barbies. I’m not going to judge.

“Why are you here?” Lana asks.