The silence of my phone deafened me as I sat alone in my apartment with takeout sushi pondering the splinter from a chopstick that had found a home in my pointer finger. It didn't hurt. I hardly notice it poke through my skin and settle there. I ran a finger over it, feeling the ridge it made. It had slipped in so quickly, but now, in a way, it was part of me. Long after dinner, I stared at the television without absorbing the images before me. The small piece of wood that my thumb glided over drew all my attention. Even pressing on it caused no pain, nor did the shard break. It was solid and confident in its new home.

It wasn't until I was preparing for bed that I tried to dislodge my new appendage. The initial pang of pain came from the spot where I squeezed it. I plucked up some tweezers and poked at the end of the splinter, but it had a better resolve than my effort. It forced me to pluck at the skin, painfully peeling it back to access the wood. With my finger smarting and thoughts of the extraction hurting more than the infliction, I went to bed.

The thick blanket of my sleep was no match for the blare of my phone.

"Hello," my voice croaked into the darkness of my room.

"Hey," Nathan's voice came clear; sleep was a distant state for him.

"Oh, hey. Is everything okay?" The start of the timing of the call cleared the cobwebs of sleep from my mind.

"Yeah, why?"

"Well," I looked at my clock, "it's four in the morning."

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry. I'll..."

"What's up?" I cut him off before he threatened to call back later.

"Nothing, I..." his voice dropped as silence filled the line. He took a sharp intake of breath before breaking the silence with, "I have to go home, but I'm scared."

My lips turned to a frown at the admission. "I know. I'm sorry," I offered.

"You know?"

I closed my eyes and pictured his brows knitting together. "It makes it real."

"Yeah." Nathan pondered the thought a bit more. "Lee leaves tomorrow."

"Go," I directed, despite the disappointment that spread through me. I wouldn't get to see him for who knows how long. With the precariously young relationship we had forged, I may never see him again. I pushed the selfish thoughts down.

"Your paper," he worried aloud.

"I have other friends that can help me," I reminded him.

"I made a commitment to you," he continued to speak his thoughts aloud.

"I'm not upset nor worried about it. This is more important," I reasoned to both of us.

"Yeah, but being there..." His words fell off again. "I don't have..." His thoughts wouldn't connect to a complete sentence despite his efforts. "I was just..."

"Nathan, seriously, don't worry about me," I offered again.

"I'm not worried about you." The truth made his words come quickly. "I'm sorry; that's not what I meant. I'm worried about you, but..."

It then clicked. "Nathan, do you want me to..." I couldn't say it; what if I was wrong?

"I don't know anyone else who has lost..." His mourning strangled the end of his sentence.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"It's a lot. We haven't been..." He paused for a moment. "Shit," shot from his lips like a bullet.

"What?"

"I was going to say together, but we haven't even talked about..."

A blush warmed my face as I bit back a smile. "I'm okay being together," my voice creaked.

"I'm really fucked up," he noted.

"Most are. I'm pretty suspicious of people who aren't fucked up and don't like The Beatles. Do you like The Beatles?" I prompted.

"Yeah, of course." I could feel his shrug in his words.

"Hm, that wasn't very convincing," I teased.

"No, I do. It's just; who doesn't like The Beatles?"

"Exactly," I smiled. "Nathan," I started again.

"Yeah," he sighed.

"When do we leave tomorrow?"

"You don't have to come. It's too much," he argued with himself more than me.

"I'm offering."

"I'll get you an open-ended return ticket; you can go home anytime you want," he offered.

"I'll come home with you, but you'll have to help me type. I don't know anyone in Wichita."

"Palmyra, you should at least know where you're going. It's Nebraska." There was finally a note of humor in his voice.

"Right, Palmyra. I love Nebraska," I definitively spoke.

"Really? Have you been before?" He was calling my bluff.

"Um, no, but I like Reubens, and they came from Nebraska," I offered.

"That's definitely not true," Nathan argued.

"It is absolutely true. I don't mess around with my sandwich facts."

"Huh," he murmured.

"You Googled it, didn't you?"

"Um..."

"Where's the trust in this relationship?" I teased.

"I trust you; I just... the Reuben is from Nebraska. I would never have thought." A yawn accented his sentence.

"Get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," he absently said before his thoughts focused back on our conversation. "Hey, thank you. I needed... I needed you."

Another blush burned my cheeks. "Anytime."

I laid deep into my pillows and pondered the conversation. There was the together, but there was also the trip. Could I support someone I just met through this? Could I manage to spend that much time with Lee? The thoughts ebb my anxiety, keeping me from falling back asleep. I focused on packing and repacking my suitcase until the sun had long since risen.

"Hey, sunshine," Trevor teased.

"I'm going to Nebraska," I blurted out.

"What? Wait... No, my question stands. What?"

"I'm going to Nebraska with Nathan."

"What? Okay, I never thought I'd say this since until now, you never dated, but that's way too fast!"

"I know, but he has some stuff going on with his family and asked me to come for support," I explained.

"Or to hack you up into little bits and feed you to pigs," Trevor noted.

"Who are you talking to?" I heard Chris ask.

"It's Ana, and she's gone crazy. She is going to Nebraska with Nathan."

"Oh... my... God. She's going home with Lee Smyth?"

"I'm going home with Nathan," I corrected, not that Chris could hear me.

"She's going home with no one!" Trevor argued with both of us.

"You can't decide that. Besides, Nathan is going to get me an open-ended return ticket. I can leave anytime I want," I argued.

"Let me ask you something; have you ever read Misery?" Trevor shot.

"What if this isn't a horror movie? What if this is a Hallmark romance: meet-cute, courting, happily ever after?" I contested.

"Sweetie, I'd love to live in a world where tiny shop owners find love and save their store, where bakers win the bake-off and find love, and where the barista meets the man of her dreams and lives happily ever after," Trevor's voice filled with whimsy.

"But..." I prodded.

"No, that's where I would love to live. It's just not where we live. We live in a world of bad tinder meet-cringes, small businesses closing left and right, and a higher population of murderers than recyclers. I know it, and you know it," Trevor finished.

"I'm going," I asserted. "I'm leaving today. When I get there, I'll text you."

"Ana..." But I didn't let Trevor finish; I just hung up the phone.