I went to Galveston. Nine days, a rented room with a gas fireplace, and a woman named Perpetua who ran the front desk and let me borrow her paperbacks. I ate dinner at six every night and did not wash one dish.
Brenna called eleven times the first evening. I answered on the third day, from a bench facing the water, and I said the only sentence I had prepared: I read the group chat. Then I let the silence do what silence does when there is nothing underneath it to hold.
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