24
“How did you tell him?” Sarah asks. We’re working at either sides of her gel-filled bean bag-looking chair to stretch it out flat into a bed. I lay in a chair just like this at Sarah’s parents’ history studio when I did my meditation session with Daniel. I know the gel molds around your body like you’re slipping into a bubble bath without getting wet. It’s hard to explain. But it’s super comfortable, and knowing that that was Sarah’s alternative when she offered to let me have her bed last night made it a whole lot easier to accept.
“I didn’t tell him,” I say. “He told me. He figured it out on his own.”
“It must have been a shock,” Sarah says. “To him, I mean.”
“Oh, he’s seen more than a few shocking things from me.” The worst of which was probably the first time, when I disappeared
