Her phone rings approximately six seconds after she hit send.

“Hey, hey,” she answers, wondering if her text made him laugh.

There’s a slight static noise in the background. “Joy.”

“Where are you?”

“Driving to a worksite.”

“Is your window rolled down?”

“Yeah.” The noise stops. “I didn’t expect you to answer so soon.”

“Phone in my hand. Thumbs got eager.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Hmm.”

Even after talking for hours last night, not seeing him feels too heavy. She leans back in her chair and closes her eyes, trying to tap into the memories she has of him. How entertaining it was to be near him while he processed. How she busied herself around him like a moon orbiting a planet when he took too long. Did she have an effect on him too? Would he ever tell her?

Joy says, “My text was just a joke. I’m fine. Really. Everything is normal at work.”

In his quiet, fear grips her like a vise almost immediately. Was that the wrong thing to say? During their talks, the silences never felt like this—punctuated and prolonged. Each word working just as hard as the pauses.

Finally, he says, “Have you decided about tonight?”

“Still spinning my brain hamster wheels about it,” she jokes, but her heart isn’t in it.

“Hmm.”

It wasn’t like this before, was it? Searing, agonizing, like cauterizing a wound. No spontaneous moments. Try too hard and this tenuous lifeline between them would collapse.

“Joy?” Malcolm knocks on her door. “You busy?”

“Oh, hold on one second.” She ducks her head and says to Fox, “I gotta get back to work. If I don’t see you tonight, are we still on for Friday?”

“Of course. Whatever you want.”

Joy hangs up, filled with that strange longing again. But she turns to Malcolm, smiling anyway, and says, “What’s up?”

Much to Joy’s surprise, after work Malcolm asks her if she wants to go to Summer’s house. They’re standing by her car in the parking lot. She’s holding on to her purse strap for dear life with both hands. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Malcolm shrugs. “She asked me to remind you.”

“Do you want me to go? Because, Malcolm, I—”

“Joy.” He holds up a hand to stop her. “It’s not about me. Summer really wants you to be there.”

“Sorry to be the one to break this to you, but it’s absolutely about you too. Tell me what you need from me.” Joy can’t help it. The offer flows out of her as natural as water running downstream. Is it always going to be this way for her? Continually self-sacrificing to make sure he’s happy?

Malcolm exhales, looks to the left and back to her. “I don’t know yet.”