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Him: Great. Huge. Amazing.
Me: I like being outside at night. It gives me this weird feeling, like I'm homesick but not for home. It's kind of a good feeling, though.
Him: I am drenched in that feeling at the moment. Are you outside?
Me: I'm in bed.
Him: Light pollution makes naked eye stargazing suck here, but I can see all eight stars in the Big Dipper right now, if you include Alcor.
Me: What was shitty about your day?
I watched the . . . and waited. He wrote for a long time, and I imagined him typing and deleting, typing and deleting.
Him: I'm all alone out here, I guess.
Me: What about Noah?
Him: He's all alone, too. That's the worst part. I don't know how to talk to him. I don't know how to make it stop hurting. He's not doing any homework. I can't even get him to take a shower regularly. Like, he's not a little kid. I can't MAKE him do stuff.
Me: If I knew something...like, something about your dad? And I told, would that make it better or worse?
He was typing for a long time. Much worse, came the reply at last.
Me: Why?
Him: Two reasons: If Noah can be eighteen or sixteen or even fourteen when he has to watch his father go to jail, that will be better than it happening when he's thirteen. Also, if Dad gets caught because he tries to contact us, that will be okay. But if he gets caught
despite NOT reaching out to us, Noah will be completely crushed. He still thinks our dad loves us and all that.
For a moment, and only for a moment, I entertained the notion that Davis might've helped his father disappear. But I couldn't see Davis as his father's accomplice.
Me: I'm sorry. I won't say anything. Don't worry.
Him: Today is our mom's birthday, but Noah barely knew her. It's all just so different for him.
Me: Sorry.
Him: And the thing is, when you lose someone, you realize you'll eventually lose everyone.
Me: True. And once you know that, you can never forget it.
Him: Clouds are blowing in. I should go to bed. Good night, Aza.
Me: Good night.
I put the phone on my bedside table and pulled my blanket up over me, thinking about the big sky over Davis and the weight of the covers on me, thinking about his father and mine. Davis was right: Everybody disappears eventually.
EIGHT
DAISY WAS STANDING NEXT TO MY PARKING SPOT when Harold and I arrived at school the next morning. Summer doesn't last in Indianapolis, and even though it was still September, Daisy was underdressed for the weather in a short-sleeve top and skirt.
"I have a crisis," she announced once I was out of the car. As we walked through the parking lot, she explained. "So last night, Mychal called to ask me out, and I could've handled myself via text but you know I get nervous on the phone, plus I remain unsure Mychal can handle all . . . this," she said, gesturing vaguely at herself. "I am willing to give the giant baby a chance. But in a flustered moment, not wanting to commit to a full-on proper date, I may have suggested he and I go on a double date with you and Davis."
"You did not," I said.
"And then he was, like, 'Aza said she wasn't looking for a relationship,' and I was, like, 'Well, she already has a crush on this dude who goes to Aspen Hall,' and then he was, like, 'The billionaire's kid,' and I was, like, 'Yeah,' and then he was, like, 'I can't believe I got fake rejected by someone for a fake reason.' But anyway, on Friday night, you and me and Davis and a man-size baby are having a picnic."
"A picnic?"
