"I want you to know. That was the deal. Truth even when it makes you — whatever it makes you."
"What did it make you?"
A long pause. "Tired. Relieved. Heartbroken. Free in a way that feels like falling." She laughed once without humor. "He said he was tired of being careful. I said careful was the price of keeping my son. He said a love that requires that much careful might be a love built wrong. I didn't have a counterargument that didn't sound like fear."
Jamal watched a shopping cart roll itself across an empty parking space in the wind. "I'm sorry you're hurting."
"Are you?"
"Yes. I can be angry about the hallway and sorry about your pain at the same time. Dr. Okonkwo says both things can sit in one chest."
Angela was quiet. Then: "I like this Dr. Okonkwo."
"I'll tell her."
They stayed on the phone while Angela walked through the open-plan house naming objects like a woman reclaiming a territory: the sectional, the photographs, the kitchen island, the hallway that was only a hallway. Jamal listened until her voice leveled. When they hung up he texted Rhea: Mom may need you tonight. Rhea replied within a minute: Already on my way with wine and bad reality TV.