Giving up on trying to figure out what is going on, I move to my bedroom, where I flop on the bed, my headboard hitting the wall. Lia: I don’t know, Breaker. Breaker: Did you just lie down in your bed? Lia: Yes, are you home? Breaker: Yes, in my bed, thinking about you. I squeeze my eyes shut and count to five before I answer, before I say something stupid—because I’m extremely emotional. Lia: Why are you thinking about me? Breaker: I’m always thinking about you. Lia: You can’t always be thinking about me. Breaker: I am. When I wake up, I wonder how I can possibly interact with you, how I can
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