I held the paper cup in both hands and let the warmth soak into my palms.

If I turned west at the next light, I could be at the house before seven.

I could park in the driveway, go in through the back kitchen door, and act as if the whole fight had been a misunderstanding.

My mother would hand me a plate of warm chicken covered in aluminum foil.

Brent would be in the living room with his computer headphones around his neck, acting like I’d never gone.

I could ask for my house keys back, unlock my bedroom, and put my clothes back in the dresser drawers.