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Charlie tried very hard to pay attention to the sound of Mugsy’s voice, but it was like having a conversation with someone on the ground when you were standing at the top of a mountain. He was lying on a pillow that still smelled like Jean, half-drunk on the memory of her touch.

Should he have asked her to stay? He assumed Jean knew she was welcome to spend the night—that in fact he would be desperately grateful for even another hour of her company—but it wouldn’t be unusual for Charlie to guess wrong about something like that.

Was it pushy to ask for more of someone’s time, especially from a person who everyone must want to be around, since she was like a human campfire, all warmth and light and dancing sparks?

He was about to ask Mugsy’s opinion, when he realized she was already saying something.

“—leaving at eight thirty tonight. Can you make that?”

“No!” he said without thinking. “It’s much too soon.”

Mugsy’s sigh was a typhoon, wafting across the ocean to hit him in the face. “That’s like six hours from now.”

“Yes, but traffic.”

“Then leave now.”

“I don’t want to get stuck waiting at the airport. With all the people.”

Mugsy was quiet for a moment. “Can’t you wear a baseball cap and sunglasses?”

“Like that ever works.”

“Listen, Charlie. I get that it’s a tough readjustment, but you can’t hide forever.”

“I know.”

“It’ll be easier once you’re home. You just need to get here, and people will leave you alone.”

He wasn’t sure which of them she was trying to convince. “Maybe I don’t want to be alone.” Or at least, not totally alone.

“Well, you won’t be. You’ll be with your family. And me.”

“But what about seizing the day? Following your bliss—”

“That’s fine for a graduation card, Charlie. This is real life. Your parents are counting on you. You got to go away and do your thing, and now you need to come home. That was the deal.”

“This isn’t about snakes, Mugsy.” There was silence on the other end of the phone. “Mugsy?”

“I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

Charlie sensed an opening. “My parents don’t really need me, Mugsy, they only think they do. I’m terrible at business. And people. Parties too. It’s a trifecta of my worst qualities.”

She was too honest to argue the point. Charlie rolled over, feeling a lump under the rumpled bedding. He dug his arm under the sheet, half listening while Mugsy said something about caterers.

It was Jean’s lucky deck. They’d played a game in bed, later. Jean said it was called Go Snake, but the rules bore a suspicious resemblance to Go Fish. He held the box to his chest. “I have to go, Mugsy.”

“So should I make the reservation? I can book the car service from here.”

“You know how you’re always telling me to stand up for myself?”

“Yes,” she said, with obvious reluctance. “But Charlie—”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“You want to find your own way to the airport?”

“No.” That would be the opposite of brave, doing what other people wanted instead of following his gut. “There’s something I have to take care of first.”

“What am I going to tell your mom and dad?”

“Tell them not to worry. I’ll be fine.”

Maybe even better than that.