I tried to work. I had an essay to read, a box full of emails, and checks to sign.

Though I’d slept soundly for a few more hours, my adrenaline was pumping by the time I got to work. Pictures of Adam and Serena danced in my head like sweaty, grunting sugarplums. I didn’t want that shit in my brain. I felt violated by my own thoughts.

So of course I had to check his green dot.

It was like an addiction. I craved the rush of anxiety. I was both miserable and comfortable in the heady, unpleasant pain of panic.

It was day thirty. If I was going to get him back, my last best chance was during the next sixteen hours. After that, we’d live on the same planet, but we would be unbound.

And yet, it was over.

He loved me and couldn’t admit it. He could chase away stalkers in the middle of the night, throw a fit about another Dom’s advances, but he couldn’t admit he loved me. Did I even have time for this? With or without Serena breathing down my neck, how was he serving me as a lover? Was I chasing him out of fear that she’d scoop him up? If he was wrong for me, what was the damn difference?

My hands shook too hard to sign the checks. I answered emails. The essay was good enough. I sent it to Zack for further review.

Nadine’s son wasn’t in, but his little space was carved out, waiting for him. I wished he was there. He cheered me up.

Dad sat at the desk across the room. I could hear his wet breaths behind the mask. Humidity was tough on him, even if it was cold. The air became a solid thing.

“Dad?” I said.

He said yes from behind the mask and kept his eyes on his keyboard.

“Do you want to go home?”

He tapped a few more keys then pushed the mask to the top of his head. His grey hair got caught in the strap and stuck out at odd angles. The shape of the mask left a red oval around his nose, cheeks, and chin. “Why would I want to go home?”

“You don’t sound good.”

“You always tell me that, and I’m always fine.”

“I’m sorry, I just don’t want you to feel obligated.”

He shut off the oxygen tank in three angry turns. “I am not obligated. Stop it. You make me crazy. Like you got nothing better to do than henpeck me your father.”

“You’re fine. I know.”

“You don’t. I taught you everything you know about this business before you were sixteen, but I haven’t taught you everything I know.”

I put my elbows on the desk and folded my hands. “Fine. Tell me something you know that I don’t.”

“Tell you something?”

“Yes. Tell me something. Surprise me.”

“Management rule number one.” He stuck his pointer finger at the ceiling. “If the person sitting next to you isn’t complaining, don’t ask them to. They’re probably very happy to be working.” He slipped his mask back down and turned on his oxygen.

Zack knocked and poked his head in.

“Hey,” I said. “I just sent you the camorra essay.”

My email beeped, and I looked as a matter of habit.

“I don’t think it’s expandable,” he said, closing the door behind him. “Not unless you want to do historical forensics, which is fun but doesn’t sell.”

“Forget it.” I opened the email and read it. “Oh!”

“Good news?”

“I won the silent auction. I forgot I even bid.”

He leaned into me. I could smell his cologne. “Dinner for two at Le Bernardin. Very nice.” He smirked and looked me up and down in a way that was wholly inappropriate.

“Yeah.” I didn’t want Zack to ask me who I was taking, because I wasn’t taking Adam and I wasn’t taking him. “Dad?”

He pushed his mask back. “I’m fine! Stop asking!”

“I know. Do you want to go to dinner with me?”

Zack stood, getting his breath off my neck. He really needed a good poke in the ribs with a very sharp stick.

“When?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten the voucher yet.”

“Sure.” He looked from me to Zack and took the snap out of his tone. “Fine. Yes.” He put his mask back and got to work.

“He really is a fun date,” I said, and Zack and I laughed.

With a knock on my desk, he said, “I’ll take you some other time.” He winked and turned to leave before I could gracefully decline.

But then, why should I? Why not go with Zack? He was handsome and smart. He’d taken care of his mother when she was sick. He didn’t seem particularly broken or so whole he was boring.

Wasn’t I happy enough before I started crawling?

Why not just live? Why make it all so complicated? Why make every single thing about sex? Why not just fuck like a normal person? Was it so antithetical?

I couldn’t stretch my limited experience over the drum of the question.

Two birds lined up, right then. And I had a stone.

All I had to do was throw it perfectly the first time.