He instructs me to pick up a photo and think on it. All of them are stills of people, faces, and I avoid any of them bearing a resemblance to him. Compounding the confusion, I’d learned, only upset him. With my lips pressed together in frustration of this game, I choose a close-up of two people grinning into the camera. He looks at me brightly.

“Nice choice, Trev…what made you choose that one?”

Nothing about it had stood out, and it was annoying the way he kept calling me ‘Trev’.

I shrug.

“They’re happy…looks like someone’s wedding.”

He smiles, his expression faltering as his bottom lip quivers slightly. Nodding before a wash of tears threaten his composure, he swallows and takes a reassuring breath.

I feel like a big idiot, why does he do this to me over and over again?

“Yeah, it was a wedding,” He laughs, wiping at his eyes, “it was beautiful. There’s my sister Megan at the reception—she was wasted, and Josh, who made us play Christina Aguilera? Please remember, Trev—I can’t do this alone.”