It was probably in the middle of October when Ash, Arkady, and I went to visit Ithaca. (Was March even there on that trip? I don’t remember. My subconscious tends to automatically crop him out of happy memories and I’m honestly here for it.) I loved Ithaca– I still do. It was as if Rochester and Savannah had a love child.
Even more infuriating, March put his two cents in without knowing the situation, putting his hypothetical psychology degree to the test. “His alters don’t love you, Xanthe.” He said, in a way that made me vaguely feel as though I were being condescended to by a breathy 900 number.