For several minutes I sat with the strange accusation that I had begun to forget her.

Then I remembered that remembering a person did not require me to stop living on a particular date.

I called Paige after my shift.

She answered from a park, surrounded by the noise of children and dogs.

“I forgot until lunch,” I confessed.

“So did I,” she said.

“Then I got sad about forgetting, and then angry that I was sad about it.”

“What did you do?”