“Do you think I want to be this way?” The phone slipped in his sweating hand. “I’ve tried.” “Never making it past a first date isn’t trying. Go on another.” “I don’t want—” “I know what you don’t want. Tell me what you do want.” “I want him here with me, God fucking damn it,” he swore, the words tasting bitter. “I know he’s gone, but he’s always here. Every time I look in the mirror, I see him behind me. I sit at the kitchen table and he’s there, across from me, reading the paper, doing the crossword puzzle, drinking his third cup of coffee. He’s next to me in the car, and I smell him in our
...more
