Your phone vibrates. It’s a text. “Can you talk right now?” You look over at your fiance; she’s enraptured with Netflix and hasn’t noticed you or your phone. You tell her you’re going to take the dog for a walk and she nods absentmindedly. You get the dog leashed and step out into the warm, humid evening air. It’s late summer in the south, and the cicadas are still buzzing lazily. A block away from the house you dial and listen to the phone ring. When Sam picks up you can tell she’s been crying. You soothe, and listen, and agree. You’re both in graduate school, and she’s been struggling in the program. After a failed qualifying exam, they’ve been pushing her to retake it before she feels ready. You’re the only one she’s told about this, and you can’t help but feel a warm flush at the thought that she’s confiding in you. You tell her she’s going to be alright, but it’s not working this time.
“Can you come over?” She asks, sniffing back tears.
“Ok.” You reply.