“Do you always cry at parties?” he asks and ducks his head a little, but with a small smile. “Apparently, whenever you’re at them. And since these are the only ones I’ve ever been to…” I reach the door again and open it. “Theresa,” he says so soft that I almost don’t hear him. His face is unreadable. The room starts to spin again and I grab on to the dresser next to his door. “You okay?” he asks. I nod even though I feel nauseous. “Why don’t you just sit down for a few minutes, then you can go to the bus station.”
