He exhales.
When he speaks again, his voice is rougher.
“It was the last place things felt uncomplicated.”
I go very still.
Because that is not what I expected.
Or maybe it is exactly what I expected and that is the issue.
I look down at the city below.
Cars threading through lights.
People living ordinary sensible lives.
“So you keep going back.”
“Yes.”
“Every month.”
“Yes.”
“That sounds healthy.”
“Didn’t say it was healthy.”
I let out a laugh that catches somewhere in the middle.
He says, “Philip.”
“Yeah?”
“Why are you really calling?”
There it is.
The direct hit.
I sink onto the edge of the desk.
Because I saw a photograph of us in your kitchen and now I feel like my heart is ready to burst.
So instead I go for a slightly less deranged truth.
“I saw the frame.”
Silence.
“Oh.”
“Yes,” I say. “Oh.”
I hear him shift again.
He sounds almost embarrassed, which is not an emotion I associate with Mark often enough to be comfortable.
