“Excuse me?” Myron said.

Candi giggled, called him a “Big Silly,” and wiggled away.

“A shower?”

“There's one in the back,” Win said. “I also took the liberty of bringing you a change of clothes.”

“You are a friend.”

“I am indeed, Big Silly.”

Myron showered and dressed, and then everyone buckled their seat belts for approach. The plane descended without delay, the landing so smooth it could have been choreographed by the Temptations. A stretch limousine was waiting for them on the dark tarmac. When they got off the plane, the air felt strange and unfamiliar, as though he'd been visiting another planet rather than another country. It was also raining hard. They ran down the steps and into the already-open limo doors.

They shook off the wet. “I assume that you'll be staying with me,” Win said.

Myron had been living in a loft down on Spring Street with Jessica. But that was before. “If it's okay.”

“It's okay.”

“I could move back in with my folks-”

“I said, it's okay.”

“I'll find my own place.”

“No rush,” Win said.

The limousine started up. Win steepled his fingers. He always did that. It looked good on him. Still holding the steeple, he bounced his forefingers against his lips. “I'm not the best one to discuss these matters with,” he said, “but if you want to talk about Jessica or Brenda or whatever…”He released the steeple, made a waving motion with his right hand. Win was trying. Matters of the heart were not his forte. His feelings on romantic entanglement could objectively be labeled “appalling.”

“Don't worry about it,” Myron said.

“Fine then.”

“Thanks, though.”

Quick nod.

After more than a decade struggling with Jessica- years of being in love with the same woman, having one major breakup, finding each other again, taking tentative steps, growing, finally moving in together again-it was over.