I don’t know, but I race to answer before he gives up.

Only, it isn’t Gabriel.

I know where I’ve seen your boyfriend before, my brother says. Ask him about the back room at Beat Box.

My mouth goes dry, and I hang up without uttering a sound.

When I was nine and Connor was thirteen, my parents went to a convention my dad’s company was holding in New Jersey. It was the first time I remember them leaving us at home together for a whole day.

As soon as they left, we parked ourselves in the living room, watched tons of bad TV, and ate everything we could find in the kitchen despite having promised Mom to only have sandwiches and two of the Jiffy Pops she’d left out on the counter for us.

Then, it started to rain and got dark. Connor was excited to be in charge, and I was nervous to be left alone with only my brother, but I couldn’t tell him that, so I kept to my room, listening to records and reading Archie comics.

Connor wanted to snoop through Mom and Dad’s bedroom, but I was too afraid to get caught and I started to cry; only Connor made fun of me, so I locked myself in the bathroom and he couldn’t get the door open and I had to stay there until my parents came home.

I feel the same way now, and I have to get out.

I pack my brother’s words away in the back of my head and take a chance, showing up at James’s apartment without calling, which is dicey because it’s not like he’s ever home.

But I guess not everything can go wrong at once. When I call from across the street, James is the one to pick up the phone.

I manage a strangled, Can I come up? And when I reach the door, James is already there.

We stand, frozen. James looks concerned and I feel jittery, as if I’ve been pushed onto the third rail.

I search for something profound to say to explain my showing up with no warning, for showing up at all.

James brushes his hair out of his eyes and looks me over. Five years from now, you won’t even remember this day, he says and pulls me upstairs.

James makes tea, gives me a joint, pulls the curtains, and puts some hypnotic Eno album on his turntable.

He dims the lights and says, We can talk or not. Your call.

I inhale deeply and imagine the smoke searing what’s left of my heart. When I exhale, I fumble through the story in a burst of blue haze.

James hesitates. What exactly is it that you’re upset with him for? he asks carefully.

I know it’s a valid question, even if I don’t want to think my anger might be caused by hurt feelings. Did I want Gabriel sitting home waiting to see me and no one else?

I can’t be mad at him for the condoms, I say. I had some too.