I finally fell asleep somewhere around three in the morning and woke up at six feeling like I had not slept at all, which was approximately accurate. My phone had four messages from Lucas, sent between midnight and six-forty-five, each one progressively shorter, which in Lucas language meant he had started the night with a lot to say and had distilled it down to its essential point by morning.
The last message, sent at six-forty-five, was three words: *Coming over. Coffee.*
He knocked at seven-fifteen. I opened the door still in yesterday’s clothes, which told him everything he needed to know about how my night had gone. He looked at me. He handed me a coffee. He walked in without being invited, which he had been doing since I was twenty-two years old and had never once required permissi
