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“And then what?”

“We talked.”

“Define talked.”

His face changes for half a second. “Evan,” I say.

“We texted.”

“How much?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“I’m not counting messages, Kylie.”

“You remember enough to know it’s been two weeks.”

“Because I know when I met her.”

“So what did you talk about?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing important.”

I laugh, and it isn’t funny. “Important enough that you told her you were single.”

“I didn’t tell her that. Not exactly.”

I go completely still. “Do not.”

“What?”

“Do not start doing that.”

“I’m telling you what happened.”

“No. You’re changing the size of words until you can fit through them.”

His eyes close. “She asked if I was seeing anyone.”

“And you said?”

He looks at the bike rack, the brick, anything that isn’t me, and I know before he says it, and I stand there and wait for it anyway.

“What did you say?”

“That it was complicated.”

I can’t say anything. There are too many words, and they’re all trying to get out at once, and they jam somewhere in my throat until all I can do is stand there with my arms wrapped around myself so tight my fingers dig into my ribs.

“Complicated.”

“I know.”

“We were complicated?”

“No.”