"I tolerate process when it keeps you from panicking."
"Also fair."
He leans against the counter. The hip is stiff this morning. I can tell by the angle of his weight, but I do not mention it because we have both learned some restraint since Tampa.
"What do they need?" he asks.
"A written statement from me. Confirmation from you if requested. Timeline. Recusal date. Relationship start date. Confirmation that no evaluation, trade, contract, medical, or roster decision involving you has involved me since the recusal."
"Which is true."
"Yes."
"And after?"
"The recusal stays permanent for anything involving you. Even after the season, if there is any organizational decision where your name appears, I am out of the room."
"Retirement stuff?"
"Depends what kind. Ceremonial? Probably not. Contractual, medical, personnel, employment transition, anything formal: yes."
"You sound like you memorized this."
"I wrote it in my head at 4 AM."
His face softens. "Of course you did."
"Don't make that fond."
"I missed the window."
The words come easily now, back and forth, a language we built accidentally and keep finding in new rooms.
But the subject underneath does not become easy because we can joke around it.
"This means more people know," Nolan says.
"Yes."
"How many?"
"Alderman. HR director. Compliance officer. Possibly legal, depending on internal routing. It should stay confidential."
"Should."
"Yes."
He looks down at the coffee. "Should is doing a lot of work."
I hate that I cannot offer better.
"Yes," I say.
He nods.
Then, after a moment: "Do it."
"You can take time."
