Lennon texted Mia back on a Tuesday morning while Damien was in the shower.He had been holding the phone for six minutes before he did it. He had read her message twice the night before and once more when he woke up, and he had spent the space between readings doing the same calculation he always did when his father was a variable, which was to say, running the numbers on what visible normalcy was worth versus what it cost.His father had been quiet for four days since the campus visit. That was not reassurance, that was accumulation.He typed, “Hey. Sure, coffee sounds good. This week?”He read it once more. He sent it before he could change his mind and put the phone face-down on the nightstand.The shower was still running. He listened to it and felt the guilt settle in, specific and unpleasant, like a stone he had placed in his own pocket and was now deciding to carry. The water cut off, he heard Damien moving around in the bathroom, the particular domestic sounds of a man who mo
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