I glance at my phone. I’d promised Lucas I would put it away while we ate. But he just went to the bathroom, and I see the flash of my screen and reach for it. I’m waiting to hear from an artist in Bahrain who I’m trying to convince to do a show at our gallery.

I unlock the screen while I take a sip of the rich tomato soup Lucas made for us tonight. When I read it, my spoon clatters to the table and tomato soup splatters everywhere, but all I can do is stare.

It’s a message from Graham. With his phone number asking me to call him.

“For fuck’s sake, Lo. Is it really that difficult to not look at your phone, just for one meal?” Lucas snaps at me when he walks back into the dining room.

“I’ve got to go,” I say and stand up and whirl around. I’m looking for my wallet.

“Go where? We’re home,” Lucas says and walks over to me. “What’s going on? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He cups my elbow.

“No.” I pull out of his grasp. I don’t know what to do first.

“I’ve got to make a call,” I say to Lucas. I stare at Graham’s message. Something is very wrong. And it’s been two minutes since I read it.

“Lucas, excuse me. I’m going to the room. I need you to not come in until I’m done,” I tell him as I start down the long narrow corridor that leads to our bedroom. He strides after, catching me by the arm with enough force to halt my steps.

“What the fuck, Apollo? You promised we’d have dinner tonight. I’m sick of being number two on your list. You act like your work is the most important—”

I wince as his grip tightens, and I turn to glare up at him. “Get your fucking hands off me, Lucas.” He drops them and steps back. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“No, I’m sorry. I know this isn’t fair, but you can’t touch me like that. I’ll be back.”

I step into our room and lock the door behind me. And then I select the number and choose “call.”

It only rings twice before he picks up.

“It’s me,” I say before he can even say hello.

He answers me with a sob. I listen, with my heart in my throat while Graham weeps and speaks incoherently into the phone. The only thing I can make out is my name and the word Mama. Fear grips my heart. Oh my God. What’s happened?

“Graham,” I said in a voice that I hope was firm enough to make him stop and answer me. “Where are you?”

“Please … Find a way, we have to,” he says in between his sobs.

I look around my room frantically. What was I doing here? When the other half of my heart needs me? Why had I left him? I couldn’t even remember right now.

“Graham, is it your Mama?” I ask.

“She’s dying, Apollo. And I can’t do anything to save her,” he said, and then he just cried. I lay on my bed and listened, and I cried, too.

I don’t know how long we stayed that way. I listened as his crying subsided, and all I could hear were sniffles, and then he was quiet, but I could hear him breathing.

“Star?” I say quietly.

“Sunshine, please stay with me … I’m so tired, but I can’t sleep,” he says, his voice groggy, words sluggish with misery.

“I’m here, you sleep,” I tell him. My arms ache to hold him.

“I’ve been dreaming of our hammock, Sunshine,” he whispers.

My heart thunders in my chest. Our hammock. Sunshine.

“You have?” I ask.

“Yes, I wish we were there right now,” he says. “You smell like strawberries.” A shiver starts right at my very core and travels over my entire body. I haven’t used that shampoo in years.

I close my eyes.

“We’re done reading. The sun is peeking through the leaves of the tree we’re in and you’ve got shadows all over your legs. We’re laughing. Let’s stay here.”

I swallow the lump of emotion in my throat and nod vigorously. I can feel the weight of him beside me in our hammock. “Yes, let’s,” I whisper, and my heart settles in my chest. My world, in the blink of an eye, feels like it’s been set to rights.

“It hurts so much,” he whispers in a broken voice.

“I know. I’m so sorry,” I tell him.

“Me, too. But you’re here. I’m not dreaming?” he asks sleepily.

“You’re not dreaming,” I say more for myself than for him. I can’t believe how five years of distance and silence has disappeared in just a few hours.

We don’t talk. His breathing evens out, and I find myself waiting for each inhale. I remember my father telling me how he used to stand over our cribs and watch our chests to make sure we hadn’t stopped breathing and how he would sometimes do it all night.

Every once in a while, Graham calls out my name, and when I answer, all he says is, “I’m sorry.”

I whisper my own apology. I’m so ashamed of myself. That in all this time, I haven’t once picked up the phone to check on his mother. I walked away from him when he had been in the middle of what I knew was the biggest struggle of his life. I checked stupid online web magazines to get my updates.

What kind of person did that to the person who saved her life in more ways than one? Because he couldn’t give me what I wanted? I’d forgotten that Graham and I were more than that. Even after I named my gallery after us. My Instagram handle, the tattoo on my ribcage—they all said I knew that this star was my universe and that I was his. Yet, I’d let my wounds’ pride stop me from being what I’d promised. His friend. Always.

What if this call had been from his mother, telling me that Graham had died? The thought is unbearable.

There’s a knock on the door, and it takes me a second to remember that Lucas is locked out of our bedroom.

I walk over and answer it.

His eyes widen in alarm as he looks at me. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll go to a hotel,” I say numbly. The phone is still pressed to my ear.

“What are you talking about? A hotel?” He steps back and looks me up and down. “Who are you talking to? What happened?” He looks horrified, and I know I owe him a tremendous apology. More than that. Right now, though, I just need to be alone. With Graham.

“Not now. I’ll call you. I’m so sorry.” I press a soft kiss to his lips, grab my wallet and keys, and I walk out.

I walk to the corner of West 117^th Street and Frederick Douglas. It’s almost two in the morning, and the streets are teeming with people. I stand in front of the Rite Aid and stick my thumb out while I strain to hear Graham over the sounds of traffic and people.

I jump in the first taxi that stops and ask him to take me to The Viceroy Central Park. I’m listening to Graham snore when another call comes through.

It’s Lucas. I decline the call.

I put the phone back to my ear, lean back into the taxi and watch as we crawl down Columbus Avenue toward mid-town. The sounds of traffic, squeaking brakes, the constant honking of horns invade the taxi. Yes, Graham’s deep, slow breathing is the only sound I pay any attention to.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice comes from the other end of the phone. I pull it away from my ear in surprise and stare at the screen for a second as I try to make sense of the interruption. My stomach drops as realization sinks in.

“Apollo?” she asks when I don’t answer. “It’s Amber,” she says tentatively. Hearing her name strikes like a sharp-edged steel blade against the flint like covetous jealousy that lives in my heart.

I push it away. I have no right to it. Not anymore. Like the rest of the world, I counted their dates. After the third one, I’d gotten drunk and asked Lucas to move in with me. Of course, she’s in Graham’s room

Reluctantly, I put the phone back to my ear and force words out of my suddenly dry mouth. “Hi, yes, it’s Apollo. I’m sorry. I’m just so tired,” I lie. Tired is the last thing I feel now. My heart is thudding in my chest. Adrenaline starting to surge at this unexpected encounter.

“I’m so happy you called. I’ve been so worried about Graham,” she speaks in a hushed tone. Hearing her say his name with so much intimacy … hurts. It feels like my heart is on fire inside of my chest.

“Yeah, bet,” I force out.

“He’s sleeping,” she says.

“I know …” I tell her.

“Oh, my goodness. You’ve been on the phone with him for … two hours and thirty minutes?”

“I’m sorry … he asked me to call, I didn’t mean to—”

“This isn’t the time. Not even close. But, I can tell you need to hear it,” she says cryptically.

“Hear what?” I demand brusquely. I just want to open the door and go to Graham.

Her speech is very direct and unnerving because I feel like she knows more about me than I would want to her to. “I love Graham. Very much,” she says slowly, like she wants to make sure I understand each word before she moves on to the next one. “We’ve become—”

“It’s okay.” My interruption is brusque, and I’m mortified by how transparent I am. “You don’t have to—” I start.

“I do. I don’t want you to feel anything less than welcome or to let anything keep you from being here for Graham however you need to be.” Her voice is full of meaning I can’t decipher. “He’s going to need you.”

I’m tired and confused, but I can recognize the extraordinary grace this woman has just shown. She must love Graham a lot. The thought, strangely, settles something inside of me. And rather than jealousy, I feel a swell of gratitude that he has been in such good hands. He deserves to be loved so completely. I wish the privilege was mine, but I can’t be anything but glad that he’s had this.

“I’ll be here for him,” I say simply, not knowing what else to say.

“He’s told me so much about you. I’m glad to know that he wasn’t exaggerating.”

“Oh, okay,” I say. My tongue is tied.

“I’m going to hang up, okay?” She yawns. “I’ll make sure he calls you tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

The line goes dead. I turn the phone over facedown in my lap and try really hard to stop my mind from thinking about her slipping into bed with him. I fail. My stomach feels like I swallowed a stone. A second later, it buzzes. It’s a text. From Graham’s number.

“I thought you might want to see him for yourself. Amber xoxo”

She sent a picture of Graham. He’s in his bed, his light-yellow sheets drawn up to his shoulders. His cheek is pressed into the mattress and his hair is loose and fans out all around his head. All I can see is his profile, his mouth is open slightly, his lips puckered by the press of the mattress against his cheek.

His lashes form feathery shadows on his cheeks. His beard is gone. I itch to touch the smooth jaw that I haven’t seen since I was a girl.

He’s even more beautiful than I remember.

I turn my phone over in my hand, unlock the screen, and hang up just as we pull up to the hotel. Then, I call Lucas and do what I should have done ages ago.