"How did you know when I was ready?"
"You called me," she said simply. "That was the signal."
I held the phone. The desk. The January city outside.
"Thank you," I said. "For waiting."
"That's what I've been doing for twenty-two years," she said. "I'm practiced at it." A pause, and then the warmth returning, the specific warmth that was Marisol's particular quality in difficult moments — not softening the difficulty but being fully present in it with you: "Are you all right?"
"Yes," I said. "I think the understanding arriving is a good thing. Even if the weight of it is—" I stopped. "Even if the weight is what it is."
"Yes," she said. "The weight is what it is. That's accurate. And the hearing happening is also accurate. Both things at once."
"Both things at once," I said.
"Always,"
