It was that I was looking at the last piece of a thing I had been carrying in my head for five weeks, and it was standing in the room, and all I had to do was nod.

Because the picture I had been living inside since the day the date was confirmed was extremely specific, and I had never said it out loud to anybody, including him.

It was late afternoon.

The light was coming in low through that window on the left.

Kevin was in the grey chair with his elbows on his knees and both of them along his forearms, one in the crook of each, and he had a face on him like a man who has been handed something he cannot account for.

And I was in the bed, propped up, sore, drinking tea somebody else had made, with a gold wrapper open on the tray across my lap.