Page 11

I look at that for a second.

Then I look at the envelope sticking out of my bag because I still haven’t put it away. I don’t tell him about all the sacrifices that I’ve made just to have this life. The last thing Evan would want is to be involved with a woman who’s pregnant with a stranger’s baby. Then why am I still talking to him?

Me: I make one career decision at seventeen and now I’m being bullied by posterior divisions.

Evan: Fair.

Me: Thank you for recognizing my suffering.

Evan: I’m recognizing your avoidance.

I stop with the pen tip on the page.

That is very Evan.

Actually, no. That is not very Evan.

In person, Evan Cole is polite in that soft, competent way. He says things like “you’re close” even when you’re wrong enough to be legally concerning.

This text has more edges.

Maybe he texts differently. Everyone does. Marco texts like punctuation costs him money. Simone texts like she’s submitting evidence to a disciplinary board.

Fine.

I continue.

Me: I am not avoiding. I am building emotional context.

Evan: Build cords.

Me: Bossy.

Evan: Correct.

Something in my stomach gives a small, ridiculous flip.

I blame the hormones.

Evan: Cords are named by their relationship to the axillary artery.

Evan: Lateral cord: anterior divisions of upper and middle trunks.

Evan: Medial cord: anterior division of lower trunk.

Evan: Posterior cord: posterior divisions of all three trunks.

I write it down. Then I stare at it. Then I write it again in a cleaner box because this is the first thing tonight that has made sense.

Me: Wait. That actually helps.

Evan: Good.

Good. Just good.

Not “great!” Not “you got it.” Not “nice work.”

Me: Do not sound approving. I’m vulnerable and holding a highlighter.