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The message delivers. He reads it almost immediately.

Dalton: Yes.

I stare at the word. Just yes. I want to throw the phone at the seat.

Me: Without telling me?

Dalton: I expected Petra to inform you.

I laugh once, quietly and without humor.

Me: Very touching. You and Petra both outsourcing basic communication to each other.

A pause.

Dalton: She didn’t tell you.

Me: No, Dalton. I found out when my car started taking me on a mystery tour.

Dalton: The facility is better.

Me: I’m sure that sentence sounded very impressive in your head.

Dalton: It’s true.

Me: That is not the point.

No reply for a few seconds.

Then: What is the point?

I look at that until my eyes burn.

What is the point?

Me: The point is I am not a package being rerouted.

The typing dots appear. Disappear.

Appear again.

Dalton: No.

One word again. But not dismissive.

I read it twice.

Me: No what?

Dalton: You’re not a package.

My throat tightens. I hate that he can make me furious and then steady me with five words. I refuse to let him know that.

Me: Congratulations on clearing the lowest possible bar.

Dalton: Maggie.

My pulse jumps.