You don’t know that you’d go to college, find a job, make a life, see it unbuilt and rebuilt.
I, a singular proper noun, would go on, if always in a conditional tense.
But you don’t know any of that yet. We squeeze his hand. He squeezes back.
You stare up at the same sky together, and after a while he says, I have to go, and you say, Good-bye,
and he says, Good-bye, Aza, and no one ever says good-bye unless they want to see you again.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’d first like to thank Sarah Urist Green, who read many, many, many versions of this story with immense thoughtfulness and generosity.
Thanks also to Chris and Marina Waters; my brother, Hank, and sister-in-law, Katherine; my parents, Sydney and Mike Green;
my in-laws, Connie and Marshall Urist; and Henry and Alice Green.
Julie Strauss-Gabel has been my editor for more than fifteen years now,
and I will never be able to adequately express my gratitude for the faith and wisdom she showed during the six years we spent working together on this book.
Thanks also to Anne Heausler for kind and contentious copyediting, and to the entire team at Dutton, especially Anna Booth,
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