“Whatever,” I said with nothing else to come back with. “Look, let me call you back later. I’m getting in the car.” While we’d talked, I had finished my breakfast and dressed in the most comfortable, not at all form-fitting, pair of gray, cotton yoga pants and black, long-sleeve thermal to wear to the shelter. “You know you can talk to me while you’re driving,” Carrie said with a hint of annoyance in her voice. “No, I can’t. I don’t have that Bluetooth thing you have that lets you talk while having your hands free. Even with it, I wouldn’t talk to you while on the road, and you shouldn’t be talking to me…but I digress.” Some arguments aren’t worth having. “Your life is tame compared to mine.” She said this with a bit of sadness in her voice as if this were a bad thing. I rejoiced in how stress-free my life is compared to hers. Yeah, a part of me would like to have one or two little poopmachines giggling on my living room floor, but that is the only part of her life I wish I had. The baby-daddy drama would piss me off and drive me to drinking. “And that is just the way I like it,” I said back with a smile in my voice. “Love you.” “Love you, too,” she replied, and we hung up. We never say goodbye. I’m not sure why. We just never do. I think it has to do with the fact that goodbye is such a permanent word. She doesn’t like anything that alludes to death or permanent separation. To her, saying goodbye to someone means that she will never speak to or see that person again, so she can’t bring herself to say the words. I think this has to do with the fact that when she was sixteen, Mom dropped her on my doorstep and said goodbye. We haven’t heard from her since.