Thirty days to forever
And now Marcus, offering himself up like a foregone conclusion, like the only reasonable ending to a story he's been quietly writing since I was twelve years old.
Any other week, I'd laugh at the idea that I have this problem. Four men, all wanting something that looks like me and mostly isn't. It doesn't feel like a good problem. It feels like standing in the middle of four different roads, and every single one of them leads somewhere I'm not sure I chose.
I think about what Theo said in the parking lot. Precise men don't leave a thirty-day deadline without knowing exactly how someone smart enough could get around the parts that don't work.