“Right?” I said. “Of course, Nolan covered his bases. There’s a theory that his wedding ring is his real totem. The theory is that he wears the ring in the dreamworld and not in real life. And allegedly, according to Reddit, he’s not wearing the ring at the end. Although I’ve watched the ending a dozen times, and it’s damn near impossible to see.”

“Huh.”

“The moral of this story is that Christopher Nolan wants to fuck with our heads.”

“Clearly,” said Dad. He stood up and ruffled my hair—like he always had since I was a little kid. I can see why some boys might not like their dad ruffling their hair, but I liked it. In a disconnected world, it made me feel connected—if only for a moment. “I’m glad we had this talk. Is… uh… is your mom home?”

This was when things inevitably became awkward.

I hesitated. Then shook my head.

“Oh. Okay. Well, make sure you don’t say the f-word around her, okay? Can’t have her thinking I’m a bad dad, am I right?”

I nodded, but my reaction was somber. Sad, even.

I wanted to talk to him about Willow. I wanted to talk to him about a lot of things. But when all the things stacked up, I felt like a clogged drain.

I just choked.

Said nothing.

“Night, Ez,” he said, and started down the hall to his empty bedroom.

The saddest thing was that you could see his relief.

“Night, Dad,” I said.

It was all I could say.

My parents were their work. Dad was a surgeon, and Mom was an internist (doctor of internal medicine). They often worked sixty-plus hours a week. Sometimes more. They both worked at the same hospital, Memorial Hospital of Carbondale—that’s actually how they met—so you’d think they had a shot at a healthy marriage. However, Willow and I—through our own detective work—learned that they were cheating on each other.

This was back when Willow and I were close. When we still talked to each other.

It all started when Willow noticed a text on Dad’s phone. It was from someone named Celia. It said:

I can’t stop thinking about last night

Willow snapped a pic of it on her own phone and went directly to me. Barged into my bedroom and shoved it in my face. “Tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

I took her phone and studied the picture. As the image sank in, I felt something die inside me—a slow death, full of pain and uncertainty.

“This is Dad’s phone?”

Willow bit her lip. She nodded.

I spent another small forever studying it.

“It could be anything,” I said.

“What else could it be?”

“Something… that happened at work,” I said. “They work nights enough. Celia is another surgeon or a nurse—”

“I don’t doubt that.”