“Where are you?” I ask, going over and sitting on the bench outside the rink.

“I just left the grocery store,” she says, and her breathing doesn’t let down. “I’m on my way home.”

“Are you running home?” I ask and smile, thinking about her. Her green eyes that light up only when she looks at Dylan.

“No.” She laughs, something she doesn’t do often, but something I want her to do more. “I’m walking home. I somehow didn’t think about the walk when I was filling the cart,” she says.

“You’re walking home?” I ask as I sit up, my voice coming out harsher than I mean to.

“Yes,” she says, ignoring my tone. “I thought about taking the bus, but it just made more sense to walk.”

“How far?” I ask, and she lets out a big breath as if my questions are annoying her.

“Did you need something?” she cuts me off and ignores my question.

“There are a lot of things I need,” I say. “The first thing is for you to let me in.” I close my eyes when the words tumble out of my mouth.

“Justin.” The way she says my name, it is almost like a breakup. I’m waiting for her to start with the “It’s not you, it’s me” speech.

“God,” I say, wishing I could hang up and start this over again. “I was just calling to check on you and see what you were up to.”

“I went grocery shopping, and now I’m on my way home,” she says. “How is Dylan? Is he okay?”

“Yeah,” I say. “He’s fine.”

“Okay, I have to let you go. The bags are slipping out of my hands, and I’m trying not to drop the phone. Gotta go,” she says and hangs up. I look at the phone, and I dial the one person who I know I shouldn’t, but I do anyway.

“Grasshopper,” he says, answering the phone, and I laugh.

“Will you ever not call me that?” I ask Matthew, who now laughs.

“Nope.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “What’s up?”

“Does something have to be up to call my big brother?” I say, but even I don’t buy it.

“The last time you called me, you wanted me to break it to Mom that you didn’t want to come home Christmas because the girl you wanted to bag bought a bunny suit.”

“That is not what I said,” I say with a groan. “A bunch of people were going to Colorado to ski.”

“And were you not bringing a girl with you?” he asks, and I don’t answer. “And did she not put bunny ears on?”

“It’s a Snapchat filter,” I say.

“I honestly have no idea what that means,” he says. “And I don’t really want to know. Sounds like some dirty shit.”