“Should I expect her in class tomorrow?”

“I don’t know that she’ll be able to get out of bed.”

He laughs, but it’s an empathetic laugh. “I hope the years drag by before Elijah is that age.”

“They won’t. It’ll go by in a blink.” It’s quiet for a moment. I like hearing him breathe. I kind of wish I was there with him right now. I cover myself with my blanket and roll onto my side, resting my phone against my ear.

“You want to know one of my favorite memories of you?” Jonah asks.

I grin. “This sounds fun.”

“It was my senior prom. Your junior prom. You remember?”

“Yes. You went with Tiffany Proctor. I spent the whole night trying not to watch the two of you dance. I can admit now that I was insanely jealous.”

“Makes two of us,” Jonah says. “Anyway, Chris was excited leading up to prom because he’d gotten a hotel for the two of you. I tried not to think about it all night. When it came time for him to leave, he was drunk.”

“So drunk,” I say, laughing.

“Yeah, I had to drive you guys to the hotel. Dropped Tiffany off first, which pissed her off. When we got to the hotel, the two of us had to practically drag Chris up the stairs. When we finally got him on the bed, he passed out in the center of it.”

I remember, but I don’t know why that’s Jonah’s favorite memory of me. Before I can ask him what was so special about it, he continues the story.

“You were hungry, so we ordered a pizza. I sat on one side of Chris, and you sat on the other. We watched Blair Witch Project until the pizza got there, but we didn’t have anywhere to set the pizza so that we could both reach it.”

I smile at the memory. “We used Chris as a table.”

“Sat the box of pizza right on his back.” I hear humor in Jonah’s voice. “I don’t know why I had so much fun that night. I mean . . . it was prom, and I didn’t even get kissed. But I did get to spend the entire night with you, even though Chris was passed out between us.”

“That was a good night.” I’m still smiling, trying to think of one of my favorite memories with Jonah. “Oh my God. Remember the night you got pulled over?”

“Which time? I got pulled over a lot.”

“I don’t remember where we were going, or if we were coming from somewhere, but it was late, and the highway was empty. Your car was a piece of shit, so Chris wanted you to see how fast it could go. You got all the way up to ninety when you got pulled over. When the cop came to your window, he said, ‘Do you realize how fast you were going?’ You said, ‘Yes, sir. Ninety.’ And then the cop said, ‘Is there a reason you were driving twenty-five miles over the speed limit?’ You paused for a moment and then said, ‘I don’t like for things to go to waste.’ The officer looked at you, and you waved toward your dash. ‘I have this entire speedometer, and most of the time, I don’t even use half of it.’”

Jonah laughs. Hard. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“How could I forget? You pissed the cop off so bad he pulled you out of the car and frisked you.”

“I got community service over that ticket. Had to pick up highway trash every Saturday for three months.”

“Yeah, but you looked cute in your yellow vest.”

“You and Chris used to think it was hilarious to drive by and throw empty soda cans at me.”

“All his idea,” I say in defense.

“I doubt that,” Jonah says.

I sigh, thinking about all the good times. Not just with Jonah but with Chris too. And Jenny. So many with Jenny. “I miss them,” I whisper.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“I miss you,” I say quietly.

“I miss you too.”

We both bask in this feeling for a moment, but then I can hear Elijah starting to fuss. It doesn’t last long. Jonah must have soothed him back to sleep somehow.

“Do you think you’ll ever take a paternity test?” I ask him. I know Elijah looks just like Chris, but it could be a coincidence. I’ve been wondering if Jonah wants valid proof.

“I thought about it. But honestly, it’d be a waste of a hundred bucks. He’s mine, no matter what.”

My heart feels like it rolls over in my chest after that comment. “God, I love you, Jonah.” My words shock me. I know we said it earlier, but I didn’t mean to say it out loud just now. I was just feeling it, and then it came out.

Jonah sighs. “You have no idea how good it feels to hear you say that.”

“It felt good to say it. Finally. I love you,” I whisper again.

“Can you just say it like fifteen thousand more times before I hang up?”

“No, but I’ll say it one more time. I am in love with you, Jonah Sullivan.”

He groans. “This is torture. I wish you were here.”

“I wish I was too.”

Elijah starts to cry again. He doesn’t let up this time. “I need to go make him a bottle.”

“Okay. Give him a kiss for me.”

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “We’ll play it by ear.”

“Okay. Good night, Morgan.”

“Good night.”

When we end the call, I’m amazed by the ache it leaves in my chest. I successfully fought these feelings for so long, but now that I’ve opened myself up to him, I want to be near him. I want to be in his arms, in his bed. I want to sleep next to him.

I replay our entire conversation in my head as I try to fall asleep.

A noise startles me, though. The sound came from the direction of Clara’s bedroom. I jump out of my bed and rush down the hallway. She’s not in her bed, so I open her bathroom door. She’s on her knees, gripping the toilet.

Here we go.

I take a washcloth out of the cabinet and wet it, then kneel down next to her. I hold back her hair while she pukes.

I hate that she’s experiencing this, but I also love it. I want it to hurt. I want her to remember every terrible second of this hangover.

It’s a couple minutes later when she falls against me and says, “I think it’s over.”

I want to laugh because I know it isn’t. I help her back to bed because she’s still very drunk. When she lies down, I notice she’s just using a sheet to cover up. I go to the spare bedroom, where I put all the things I confiscated. I grab her blanket and her sequined pillow, then grab a trash can and take them all to her.

While I’m tucking her in, she mutters, “I think I have vomit in my nose.”

I laugh and hand her a Kleenex. She blows her nose and drops the Kleenex in the trash can. Her eyes are closed, and I’m stroking her hair when she says, “I don’t ever want to drink again.” Her words are slurred. “I hated the pot too. It smelled so bad. I don’t want vomit in my nostrils again, it’s the worst.”

“I’m glad you hate it,” I say.

“I hated sex too. I don’t want to do that again for a long, long time. We weren’t even ready. He tried to talk me out of it, and I wouldn’t listen.”

I know she’s drunk, but her words surprise me. What does she mean he tried to talk her out of it?