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“Alive, fed and currently negotiating television rights like hostile governments,” I say.

“So, standard,” Erica replies.

“Very,” I say.

I carry the phone into the living room and sit on the edge of the sofa. Erica and I met not long after I moved to San Francisco, back when I was still learning the city and pretending I had everything under control. She has been woven into my life ever since, close enough to know when I am avoiding something and irritating enough to keep asking until I stop.

“Did Miles ever finish that ridiculous robot idea?” she asks.

“No. Now it needs to track heat signatures,” I reply.

“That sounds safe,” Erica says.

“That was exactly my response,” I tell her.

Erica laughs again before continuing.

“Oh, I almost forgot. I ran into Jason yesterday.”

I pause. “Where?”

“At that architecture foundation event downtown,” Erica says.

“He was there with someone from his firm.”

“That makes sense,” I reply.

“He asked about the boys,” Erica says.

Something in my chest softens despite myself.

“What did you tell him?” I ask.

“I told him they’re good,” Erica replies.

“I told him Wells is still terrifyingly organized and Miles is still running at full speed.”

“Accurate,” I say.

Erica hesitates before continuing. “He asked about you too.”

I lean back against the sofa. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him you’re impossible,” she says.

“Also accurate,” I reply.

“He laughed,” she says.

I do too, quietly.

Jason was easy to laugh with, and that was part of what made ending things so difficult. We were together for nearly two years, long enough for him to become part of the boys’ routine without ever forcing his way into it. He helped Wells with school projects when asked, showed Miles how to use basic drafting software because Miles became fascinated with buildings, and never once acted as though dating me entitled him to play father.

He was patient, kind and dependable. There was no betrayal, no dramatic collapse and no single moment I could point to afterward and say that was why. I simply reached a point where I knew he loved me more deeply than I loved him.

“I still feel bad about how it ended,” I say.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Erica replies.