“I thought…I thought the worst.” “It didn’t happen,” he reassures and pats the blanket lump that is me. “That’s your forehead?” “My nose,” I sniff, and my lips rise a little just thinking about him patting me. His presence feels needed, necessary, as if he’s the sole light among space and time. I calm myself in two breaths, peeling the blanket off my splotchy face, I ask, “Can you…can you come closer?”
