Chapter 95 Winter

Mike is talking. His mouth is moving and words are coming out, but my brain has officially left the building. It's probably on a beach somewhere drinking margaritas and pretending today didn't happen.
I just stare at him as he speaks, watching his mouth move, hearing the words but barely processing them because my emotional capacity is at approximately negative forty percent right now.
He keeps turning to look at me with these desperate pleading eyes, then back at the road, then at me again, like he's waiting for me to suddenly realize he's my soulmate or something equally delusional.