Parker: I didn’t give your information to my lawyer. I know it’s too late to matter, but I thought you should know.

I received the text two weeks ago, the day after Valentine’s. In the time since, I’ve tried to keep myself busy. I’ve worked on Zach’s website. I’ve gone biking twice, and physically ached both times at not having Parker there with me. I also texted him back.

Mal: Thank you.

I stopped and started a million different additional messages. Ones asking if he was moving. Ones telling him how much I wanted to continue what we had going. But fear stopped me every time. I’m not going to put him in a position of having to choose between me and his family, probably because I know I’d lose.

I’ve got a meeting at Crach’s this afternoon to do a final demo of his new website before it goes live. Zach does a terrible job of hiding his surprise at my appearance when he answers the door. My wet hair twisted into a bun is probably more shocking than the baggy sweater and yoga pants I threw on. If he wanted more of an effort, there’d have to be the possibility of a threesome as our meeting wraps up. I shudder at the thought. Ugh, who’d want to join Craig and Zach in what is assuredly the most disgustingly sweet vanilla sex ever.

Zach offers me tea or coffee, and I choose tea because I feel like death warmed over and it sounds like it would hit the spot. I boot up my laptop and wait.

“Thanks again for doing this,” Zach says as though I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart. He sets down two coasters before bringing over our mugs. “I was so embarrassed by my old site I never even gave out the web address.”

“No problem,” I say and sip at my tea. “It’s not like I don’t have the time on my hands.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Zach says and glances away quickly. He fidgets with his glasses while I pull up the demo that I have on a staging server. “I hope it’s not too presumptuous of me, but I’ve been doing a little research on freelance graphic designers.”

My hand pauses at that. “You think I should go into business for myself?”

Zach rushes out of the room, but returns seconds later with a file folder. He pulls out paper after paper, spreading them out across the table.

“Look at this map,” he says as he thrusts a map with purple circles of varying sizes placed across the United States in front of me. “In all of the Rocky Mountain and Great Plains regions, only Denver is really a hub of design activity. There’s a market for a designer who can meet the needs of smaller clients in this area.”

“But isn’t that like the company I worked for? Don’t they fill that need?”

“Ah, but look,” he says and shuffles around some papers until there’s a new chart in front of me. If this is what he calls “a little research,” he must have some very satisfied clients. “You mentioned in passing what your agency charged their clients for what you’re doing for me. They are almost as expensive as a Denver-based firm. Which is outrageous. But if you think about it, they have massive overhead. How many people are employed by Metro?”

“Five designers and two design interns, plus the lead designer. There’s also eight account executives and their boss. The secretary, the office manager, the lead financial guy, and the owner. So that’s twenty-one people.”

Zach scribbles some notes in the margin as I tally the numbers out loud. “And how many clients did you have?”

I puff out a breath as I think. “Three big ones, the type who had consistent work that required multiple monthly print layout designs for magazines and radio ads and billboards. The others were smaller. Maybe someone would need a flyer one month, or another would want an advertisement for their new store. There were always a ton of those, but they weren’t consistent.”

More scribbles accompanied by excited bouncing.

“How were they not in the red with that many people on staff, even with their exorbitant pricing? Never mind. The point is that you don’t need the super big clients. If you charge reasonable rates for a variety of basic services that a small start-up business would need, you would be great. The big costs – people, overhead – you wouldn’t have. And small start-ups can be intimidated by the Metros of the world. These are folks who are risking everything to start a business, already stressing about funds, and then these marketing firms try to come in and tell them that if they aren’t on TV or splashed across every newspaper in town, that they might as well shelve their dreams. It freaks them out. Believe me, I’ve had to talk enough of them down to know. A simple, reasonably-priced start-up package – logo, website, cards, flyers, the basics – is what these folks need, and that’s a niche that’s missing around here.”

I sit back, stunned. First, because I’ve never heard Zach talk that much at once, but second, because everything he said makes sense.

“Sorry, I got carried away.” Zach turns red and pushes at his glasses.

“No, man, this is amazing. Really.” I think my eyes have glazed over from all of the graphs, but damn. “I never even thought of it as a possibility. But you make it sound … doable.”

“Did he show you all the charts?” Craig appears in the doorway, one hand holding a grocery bag and the other tossing his keys on the little table they keep by their front door. It’s so domestic it makes my teeth hurt. His question is for me, but his smile is all for Zach.

“It’s incredible,” I answer with a nod, because the work Zach put into the idea really is.

“Yeah, he is,” Craig says dreamily, still staring at Zach, and I fight the urge to throw a paper wad at his head.

“I said it, not he, you lovesick idiot.”

Zach has the decency to blush, but I can tell he loves it. “Well, do. Think about it, that is. I’d be more than happy to help you out with a business plan and to look for financing. I wouldn’t even charge you for it. We could work out a trade – more branding and advertising help in return for my services. And I have a ton of clients. I could refer them to you.”

“I … why would you do all this for me?”

“You’re my friend,” Zach says, almost like he’s taken aback.

Craig chuckles and squeezes a hand at the base of Zach’s neck. “I’m going to go get dinner started. Would you like to stay, Mal?”

Now that I’m not texting or seeing Parker all the time, I’ve been lonely. Dinner with friends actually sounds nice, but the look of horror on Zach’s face makes me think twice.

The look doesn’t escape Craig. “It’s take and bake enchiladas from the market, babe,” he says and heads to the kitchen. “Don’t worry. Even I can’t screw that up.”

“If you’re sure you have enough for three, it sounds perfect,” I say, and Craig leans back from his spot in front of the oven, thumb held high in the air.

“And that right there is why I want to do this, help you start your own business,” Zach says, ducking his head while he gathers up the papers into a single tidy stack. “Well, if you want to, that is. I know you had to move once for work. If you had to move again, that would really suck. We would miss you. We’re losing Parker in two days. I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

It could be minutes or hours that I stare at him without blinking. “Two days?”

I knew it was coming, but I think I convinced myself that if I didn’t know for certain he was moving, then I could delude myself that it never happened. Or maybe I just thought I’d have more time.

“He’s moving back to Oklahoma to take care of his mom. I thought you knew about his mom. You were there when he found out about her Alzheimer’s, right?”

“Right,” I say around the world’s most difficult swallow. I can’t get anything past my constricting throat.

“I can understand wanting to be there for her before she forgets everything. But I could strangle Uncle Ralph. Acting like it was his duty as a son to take care of her. Umm, what about Ralph’s duty as a husband? He’s a wealthy dentist who could retire at any time. And probably already spends more time on the golf course than at his practice. But Parker’s life and job are somehow less important? God, sometimes I really hate my family. Parker excluded.”

I sleepwalk through the rest of the evening. I think by the end of it, Zach’s website is live and he’s happy. I’m fairly certain I partook of their dinner, but I don’t remember tasting anything. The only thing I know for sure is that Parker is leaving.