“Okay,” he said. “I gotta go to sleep. It’s almost one.” 
“Okay,” I said.
 “Okay,” he said. 
I giggled and said, “Okay.” And then the line was quiet but not dead. I almost felt like he was there in my room with me, but in a way it was better, like I was not in my room and he was not in his, but instead we were together in some invisible and tenuous third space that could only be visited on the phone. “Okay,” he said after forever. “Maybe okay will be our always.”
 “Okay,” I said.
 It was Augustus who finally hung up.”

“And then the line was quite but not dead. I almost felt like he was there in my room with me, but in a way it was better, like I was not in my room and he was not in his, but instead we were together in some invisible and tenuous third space that could only be visited on the phone.”

“I love you present tense,” I whispered, and then put my hand on the middle of his chest and said, “It’s okay, Gus. It’s okay. It is. It’s okay, you hear me?” I had—and have—absolutely no confidence that he could hear me. I leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Okay,” I said. “Okay.”

“Still perfect,” he said. “Read to me.”“This isn’t really a poem to read aloud when you are sitting next to your sleeping mother. It has, like, sodomy and angel dust in it,” I said.“You just named two of my favorite pastimes,” he said. “Okay, read me something else then?”“Um,” I said. “I don’t have anything else?”“That’s too bad. I am so in the mood for poetry. Do you have anything memorized?”“‘Let us go then, you and I,’” I started nervously, “‘When the evening is spread out against the sky / Like a patient etherized upon a table.’”“Slower,” he said.I felt bashful, like I had when I’d first told him of An Imperial Affliction. “Um, okay. Okay. ‘Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, / The muttering retreats / Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels / And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: / Streets that follow like a tedious argument / Of insidious intent / To lead you to an overwhelming question . . . / Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” / Let us go and make our visit.’”“I’m in love with you,” he said quietly.“Augustus,” I said.“I am,” he said. He was staring at me, and I could see the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I’m in love with you, and I’m not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I’m in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we’re all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we’ll ever have, and I am in love with you.”“Augustus,” I said again, not knowing what else to say. It felt like everything was rising up in me, like I was drowning in this weirdly painful joy, but I couldn’t say it back. I”

“So how’s it going?”“Okay. Glad to be home, I guess. Gus told me you were in the ICU?”“Yeah,” I said.“Sucks,” he said.“I’m a lot better now,” I said. “I’m going to Amsterdam tomorrow with Gus.”“I know. I’m pretty well up-to-date on your life, because Gus never. Talks. About. Anything. Else.”

“Maybe okay will be our always.""Okay.""Okay.”

“Augustus: “You probably need some rest.”Me: “I’m okay.”Augustus: “Okay.” (Pause.) “What are you thinking about?”Me: “You.”Augustus: “What about me?”Me: “‘I do not know which to prefer, / The beauty of inflections / Or the beauty of innuendos, / The blackbird whistling / Or just after.’”Augustus: “God, you are sexy.”Me: “We could go to your room.”Augustus: “I’ve heard worse ideas.”