stirred my drink. “He is living with another woman.”
“That wasn’t what I said.”
“He chose her.”
“Maybe.”
I looked at him. Michael shrugged. “People can choose something and still resent losing what they threw away.”
I stayed silent. Four months had already shown me Daniel wanted his freedom while preferring mine to remain postponed forever.
Fifteen minutes later, my phone vibrated. Daniel wanted to know:
Who are you with?
I showed Michael. He offered increasingly ridiculous responses.
“Tell him Brad Pitt.”
“No.”
“George Clooney.”
“No.”
“Your parole officer.”
I
