"It's over."
"Yes."
I close my eyes. "I hate that."
"I know."
"I don't know what I am."
Her breath catches.
I did not mean to say that either. It seems I have developed a habit of honesty around my sister. Dangerous woman.
"You're my brother," she says.
"Dana."
"I'm starting with what I know."
My eyes burn. I keep them closed.
"You're Nolan," she says. "You're a pain in the ass. You're terrible at answering texts. You're weirdly judgmental about how people shovel. You're the only person I know who can make 'morning' sound like a complete emotional memoir. You are not only hockey."
"Feels like it."
"I know."
She does. Not the way I do. But she knows what it looked like from outside, which may be worse in some ways. Watching a person disappear into one identity and calling it success because everyone else does.
"Go to him," she says.
"Now?"
"No, next fiscal quarter."
I almost laugh. It hurts.
"Yes, now."
"He's at work."
"Then wait until he isn't and go to him. Or call him. Or text him. I don't care. Just don't sit in your apartment with this."
I look at the steering wheel. My hands.
"Okay."
"Say it."
"I'm going to tell him."
"Good."
We hang up after she makes me promise to call later. I sit another five minutes. Then I start the truck.
I do not go home.
I go to Caleb's apartment.
