“Matt,” I say. “I called you, like, twelve times.” “Sixteen, actually,” he blurts out, shaking his phone in his hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer. I was—it was a bad night for me.” “We all have bad nights,” I reply. “But you’ve helped me with mine. It hurt not to be able to help you with yours. You hurt my feelings, but you really scared me.” “I have a lot I want to say,” he says. “But I don’t know where to start.”
