“You are sad,” he tells me with a small nod—he’s decided—and he steps toward me. “So what if I am!” I yell at Sam. “My dad just died.” He gives me a long look again and then shakes his head. “That’s not why you’re sad.” I bellow, “Who the fuck asked you!” He shrugs gently. “I don’t know, Georgia—I think maybe the more important question is, who didn’t ask you?” I feel like someone dropped a piano on me.
