Page 69 of Empty Net

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"I'm relieved," Dana says.

That is worse than proud. Better too.

"I've been holding my breath too," she says.

I sit down on the kitchen floor because standing is no longer working.

The tile is cold. My hip hates it. I stay there anyway.

"Sorry," I say.

"No."

"Dana."

"No," she says again. "You do not get to apologize for needing time. You can apologize later if you become insufferable about being in love."

"I'm not in love."

Silence.

"Don't," I say.

"I didn't say anything."

"You inhaled."

She laughs, and for a second she sounds like she did when we were kids, sitting on the boards at Dad's rink with hot chocolate from the machine and wet socks inside our skates.

"Call me again," she says. "At a normal time if possible, but I'll take what I can get."

"Okay."

"And Nolan?"

"Yeah."

"Tell him you told me."

My chest tightens. "Why?"

"Because he should know you opened a door."

I look at the dark apartment. The clean counter. The bed down the hall with the undisturbed pillow.

"Okay," I say.

We hang up at 11:51.

I stay on the kitchen floor for twelve more minutes.

The crying stops before I stand. My face dries. The hip complains when I get up and the complaint is sharp enough to make me laugh once, ugly and quiet.

I text Caleb before I can turn it into a strategy.

Told Dana.

Three dots appear.

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