“We don’t have time for that now,” Zara said, already grabbing her keys. “Just stay on the phone with me. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Zara sat up in bed. Her logic said: She’s fine. She’s probably just drunk at another party. But her gut said: Unblock. Now.

When the doctor finally came out and said, “He’s going to be fine,” her mother crumpled into Zara’s shoulder.

“Okay.” A tiny, grateful sound. “Okay.” The surgery lasted four hours. Zara sat in a plastic chair, holding her mother’s hand. Neither of them spoke about the block. Neither of them needed to.