a comedy show for our second. Those were good dates, right? I thought we’d had fun. He wouldn’t be blowing me off, right? A week after I had called him and he eventually answered, he finally came in. He looked skinnier than normal, even in his bright sweatshirt, and his eyes seemed to droop down. “Are you okay?” I asked. “Never better,” he grinned. And I believed him. “Accept that Isaac is gone, okay?” My older sister tells me on the phone. She is married with two kids and a firefighter husband. “I know he is.” It’s been four months since he died. I know he’s gone. That doesn’t mean I I can move on yet. “Are you coming to our house for Christmas?” “Yes,” I say. “Are you excited to see your nephews?” “Yes.’ “What gift should I give you?” “Nothing.” There’s a pause on the line, followed by a heavy sigh. “Are you still going to therapy?” “Yes,” I say. “Is it helping?” “Yes,” I say. “Then why are you still acting like this?” I hang up the phone.