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After a pause, she says, “You sound good.” If she’s hoping I’ll give her an explanation, she should know better. “Everything green with the move on your end?” “Yes. No problems. Theresa loved the apartment. Cried when I gave her the keys. Her kid’s a sweetheart. You’re seeing someone new, aren’t you?” My tone gentle, I say, “You know I won’t tell you that.” “You just did. Who is she?” “Kiyoko, don’t do this.” There’s a long silence on her end. In the background, I hear calliope music. She’s at Granville Island again, at the park overlooking the water where she used to take her daughter on walks in her stroller. Her tone harder than before, she says, “You know what your problem is, Coleton? You have a hero complex.” A sense of fatigue descends on me, weighing down my body. “So thi
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