(Author's note: I do appreciate the "Oh thank god it wasn't Chris" response! -amy)

Chris had a lot of other people to call, but he texted Kurt back early the next morning. I'm still in the hospital.

At least you're talking now, said Kurt. The last time I saw you, you had a breathing tube in your mouth.

I'm sure as hell making up for that week of not talking now. I think I used up my monthly data limits around three am. I've texted or called everybody I had numbers for and everybody else I could find. Do you have Puck's roommate's number? What was his name? Layton?

Kurt gritted his teeth. Chris, are you serious? You're really not going to tell me what the hell happened to you?

What do you mean?

I mean after you disappeared, all we heard was "he's in the hospital." That was it. You've got to give me more than that.

There was a long silence after that. Kurt managed to creep into the bathroom without bothering Finn, brush his teeth, shower, and make a reasonable start at styling his hair before Chris responded.

Okay, I just talked to three different people and got three different answers about what they think happened, and none of them were close to the truth. What the hell kind of gossip mill does Usdan have without me, anyway?

Puck didn't tell anybody, Kurt replied. I'm pretty sure the police and parents and the camp director all threatened him with all kinds of consequences, but he said he promised you he wouldn't say anything.

Holy. Shit. Then, after several moments: I think if you can put up with the random crying, it would be easier to say this out loud than to try to write it down.

Kurt went upstairs, slipped through the front door, and sat on the top step of the porch before calling Chris. He picked up right away.

"I am really sorry about Bryce," Kurt said.

"Fuck, Kurt, don't lead with that." He sounded hoarse and exhausted, but Kurt could hear him smiling, and Kurt smiled back, feeling his own tears coming.

"It's really, really good to hear your voice. I was so scared. We all were, that whole week."

"Is that right? Well, I got zero flowers from anybody! Never mind flowers aren't allowed on this floor. Not feeling the love." His disdain was epic.

"I didn't make it to the hospital until the Sunday after you were admitted, and even by then you really didn't look very good." Kurt didn't say anything about Noah's presence in his room. "How much do you remember?"

"Everything before, I think. I mean, if I don't remember it, I wouldn't know, right?" Chris snorted. "Might be better if I didn't. God, I was so stupid."

"Can you just tell me—?"

"Would you believe it was a hookup? I used the M4M personals on Craigslist. There was a guy who seemed promising, we made plans… no strings, just what I wanted, you know?" He groaned. "God… maybe this isn't better. So I got to the address in Queens, and it wasn't one guy with no strings, it was three with—well, I still don't know what they were, but they were heavy and they hurt. They hit me until I stopped moving."

"Oh, god." Kurt cringed. He had known to expect something like that, but it didn't make it any easier to hear.

"Luckily they knocked me out before I could feel the rest of it. They left me in Central Park. I woke up hours later, puking from the concussion, barely able to breathe, and I texted Puck. He came to get me but refused to move me. Before I would let him call the ambulance, I told him he wasn't allowed to tell anybody what happened."

"And he never did," Kurt said. He sniffed, carefully wiping his eyes. "Or at least he didn't tell me."

"Yeah, which means he didn't tell anybody else. Shit. So of the three people I just talked to, two of them said they thought Puck had something to do with it. I guess that would explain why he's not taking my calls."

"He's not taking mine either. His sister told me he's staying with his dad. I haven't talked to him since the show." Kurt held his breath. "Chris, the show—"

"Yeah, I heard about Puck taking over Romeo. I am mad as hell I didn't get to do it myself, but he was totally my second choice." He sighed. "Someday I'd love to see the recording, but… I would have called Bryce to get it. And now I have no idea who to ask."

Kurt swallowed. "You really think nobody knew he was sick?"

"I think if they had, they wouldn't have let him—" Chris uttered a muffled curse, and Kurt sat with him while he cried.

"How are you doing now?" he asked hesitantly. "Physically, I mean? And what about the men who—attacked you?"

"I haven't decided about that yet. I'm still a mess, but I'm breathing on my own now, and my surgeon says I'm going to recover. They didn't break any bones in my legs, so I should still be able to dance. Not that I have any idea how I'm going to pay for this hospital stay. Or even what I'm going to do next year, now."

"Oh." Kurt's mind raced. "You mean… Bryce was going to set up an internship for you after camp."

"Me, Ian, Puck, and Bethany. It was all in process, but at the moment, we don't even know who to talk to. It was all dependent on him. God… I really fucked up. I don't have anywhere to go."

"Your parents—"

"My parents kicked me out after high school, Kurt." Chris sounded exhausted. "Not an option."

He breathed through the shock. "You never told me that."

"Look, I really… I have to take this one day at a time. Can you please find Puck and let him know about Bryce? Ms. Paige is helping me figure out a memorial service and—and burial plans, so I'll let you know about that."

"You're going to call me every day," Kurt said. "Okay? Every day. And I will find Puck. His father worked with Bryce, too. I'll call him. And—" He sat there, feeling helpless. "I can't think of what else to say, but you're not alone."

"Thanks, Kurt. Right now I don't think I can do anything except make phone calls and sleep and cry."

"Then you'll do that. And you'll call me tomorrow."

"I'll call you tomorrow," Chris agreed.

No one else in the house was awake yet, but Kurt didn't feel like he could be alone with his feelings. He sent Asher a text. When you're done with your morning yoga, let me know.

He paced the kitchen while the coffee brewed, wondered how he was going to get in touch with Noah if he wasn't going to bother to call back. Maybe he could leave a message for Aaron at the Dayton Opera House.

Then he remembered Mrs. Wright also knew Bryce. He went to the cork board by the stove in the kitchen and found the notice listing Finn's Sunday in the Park rehearsals, with her phone number at the bottom.

While he was trying to decide if it was too early to call, he got a reply from Asher. Did you hear?

About Bryce? Yes. Chris called me.

Kurt leaned on the counter, feeling the familiar, terrible pressure of grief in his chest, accompanied by all of the other accompanying feelings of guilt and fear and despair.

It's so sad, Asher said. Are you doing okay?

I think so. I mean, I've done this before, when my mom died, and it's not exactly fun, but I know what to expect. I feel so bad for Chris, though. He's dealing with everything by himself, still in the hospital, no family.

Anthony's right there in the city, Asher said. I don't doubt he'll be there for Chris. Lots of campers were from New York, too. Bethany, Oliver.

That actually did make him feel better. Right now I'm trying to figure out a way to reach Puck. He's not responding to anybody.

I'm not sure I know any better way than you do, but the counselors at Dalton are really great. I bet they would help if you gave them a call.

Oh! Kurt smiled. Our school counselor is great, too. I hadn't thought about calling her. I'm going to start with the director of our summer youth theater. She knows Bryce, too. Knew. His smile faded, and he sighed. Thanks.

"Kurt?" His dad stood in the doorway to the kitchen, blinking, still in his robe. "It's not even six. What's going on?"

"Bryce. My director at Usdan." It was impossible to say it aloud for the first time without crying. "He died yesterday."

His dad hugged him without comment for a long time. Kurt knew he'd had too much experience hearing I'm sorry for your loss to ever say anything like that.

"Is there anything you want to do right now?" his dad asked.

"I'm on a mission," Kurt said. "To find Puck. Other than that, I'm waiting to hear from Chris about the memorial. If there's any way I can attend that, I would really like to."

"We'll see what we can do about both of those things." His dad squeezed his shoulder. "How about first we start with breakfast?"

Mrs. Wright smiled and opened her front door. "Come on in, Kurt. You look magnificent today."

He straightened the collar on his shirt. "If I am occasionally a little over-dressed, I make up for it by being always immensely over-educated."

She laughed. "That's from Earnest, isn't it? How lucky you were to study that show with Bryce. Not to mention working with him on Romeo & Juliet." She invited him to follow her into the kitchen. Kurt saw his script sitting on the counter, covered with sticky notes and neat red pen. "I was so sorry to hear about his passing. Can I get you something to drink?"

Kurt accepted a glass of iced tea. "Not that I have a basis for comparison, but I know he was well-regarded in the theater community. Our show even got reviewed by several local magazines. I'm grateful for the opportunity to work with him."

"I am sure it was entirely mutual. Bryce Coleman had no lack of creativity and talent in his professional life, but he was never happier than when he was directing young artists."

"I think that got him into trouble," Kurt said, remembering the comments he'd heard about child endangerment. "People were saying he shouldn't be having us performing shows like those, or at least not given his directorial choices."

Mrs. Wright frowned. "Certainly he was edgy, but it was never so over-the-top that he lacked for students." Her face turned thoughtful. "I have to wonder, now, if he took more and bigger risks each summer because he knew he was dying."

"You know, I would totally believe that." Kurt smiled when she laughed again. "So, my friend Chris is putting together a memorial, and I'll let you know when I find out more about that, but… Mrs. Wright, I'm trying to get in touch with Puck. I haven't seen him since camp, and he's not answering my calls. I'd really rather he not learn about Bryce's death from some anonymous source."

"Oh, well." Mrs. Wright hesitated. "He told me not to tell you, but… Kurt, he was at the Saturday performance of Sunday in the Park."

Kurt blinked. "I see."

"He didn't want to miss it, but he also didn't want you to know he was there. I wish I knew more about why, but that was all he said."

"No, it's… I know how Puck is." Kurt looked at the floor, trying to squash his bitter disappointment. "I suppose that means you know where he is, but you can't tell me?"

"I don't know that either, I'm afraid." She walked over to sit beside him and picked up the script. "At least I can give you what you asked for at the performance. I read your play. It's good, Kurt."

He couldn't help smile. "I can see you have some comments for me."

"Ask an English teacher," she agreed, "you're going to get comments. They are mostly stylistic considerations, though I did include ideas about developing your inciting incident." She handed it back to him. "Do you have plans to submit it anywhere in particular?"

"My friend Anthony told me about NYADA's Young Playwright contest? I haven't finished my college application, but the contest deadline for this fall is coming up, and I thought…" He shrugged. "If they accept it, maybe it would give me an edge in the application process."

"Well, then, I suggest you make any edits you deem acceptable, then submit it. It's certainly good enough to merit a second look." She gave him a fond smile. "We did miss you this summer, Kurt, but I wanted to tell you, it was wonderful to work with your stepbrother. Finn has an impressive vocal range, and he developed quite a bit as an actor this summer. Will you encourage him to apply to NYADA as well?"

"I—yes!" Kurt felt a thrill of pride. "I absolutely will. I know he had a wonderful time doing Sunday in the Park with you. I'm so glad he decided to audition." He took a deep breath. "We are both grateful for all the opportunities you opened up for us. I mean, at school as well as in theater, but especially that."

"Like Franz said in Act One…" In a melodic alto Kurt had never heard, Mrs. Wright sang, "Work is what you do for other people, art is what you do for yourself. I love teaching, but directing is what sustains me." She cocked her head. "You know, I am somewhat surprised Aaron Puckerman never chose that route, particularly after his stroke. Do you plan to talk with him about Bryce's passing?"

"If I can reach him, yes. He's always been very kind to me."

"Well, perhaps you might start by speaking with Puck's mother. She also knew Bryce, and I know she is still here in town."

That did not seem likely to be a fruitful encounter, given the last several interactions he'd had with Mrs. Puckerman, but Kurt had to admit driving across town to see if he could make contact would be a more reasonable next step than going to Dayton. He called the Puckerman house, and Sarah picked up.

"It's Kurt," he said. "I know you're not supposed to talk to me, but I'm really calling to talk to your mom. Is she home?"

"Not yet. But she was on third shift last night, so she'll be going grocery shopping after work. I can tell you where and when she shops, if you want to find her there."

He grinned. "Sneaky. I don't suppose Noah is back…?"

"He already got mad at me for telling you he was at Dad's the last time." She sounded legitimately sorry. "I don't even know where he is now."

"I have some bad news to give him, and I was really hoping to tell him in person, but it doesn't sound like he's going to let me do that. If you do see him, would you please tell him to call Chris?"

"Okay? What's the bad news?"

"I'm going to let your mom tell you. One more request: can I get your dad's phone number?"

She read it to him one digit at a time while he wrote it on the back of the Sunday in the Park brochure he found on the floor of the Navigator. While he made his way across town to the Sav-A-Lot where Mrs. Puckerman shopped, he called the number. It went to a generic voicemail, so he just said who he was and asked Aaron to call him back.

There was a tiny Starbucks in the grocery store, so Kurt sat there waiting and watching the door.

I'm going to ambush Puck's mother while she's shopping, he texted Chris.

Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? Chris replied.

Kurt giggled. That's all I got, Romeo.

What was it like to play Juliet opposite your boyfriend?

He's not my boyfriend. And it was amazing, but I still wish you'd had a chance to play Romeo. Puck said the same thing.

Yeah, I think I believe you. Someday, when I'm famous and playing the role opposite a woman, I'll send his broken-down ass an invitation to the premiere. And one to my parents, for good measure.

Kurt suddenly remembered something. Your parents were at Usdan. They talked to Bryce about Puck, after you were hurt.

It was a beating, Kurt. I was beaten. There was a pause. Are you sure it was them?

Yes, I saw them myself. They weren't happy with Puck, but Bryce defended him. Said you were an adult, and he didn't have to say anything. I didn't know what he was talking about then, but now I understand.

Chris didn't respond. When he saw Noah's mother walk in, pushing an empty cart, he stood up, tucking his phone into his pocket. "Mrs. Puckerman?"

She turned, but when she saw who it was, she rolled her eyes and sighed in annoyance. "What do you want? Noah said he doesn't want to talk to you."

"No, it's not—I mean, it is about that, but not for what you think. I have to tell you what happened. To Bryce Coleman."

Noah's mother stopped moving. She looked at him, her face unreadable. "What happened?"

He took a deep breath. "I'm really sorry to be the one to tell you. He died, yesterday. He had lung cancer."

She walked slowly to the chair Kurt had just vacated in Starbucks. Kurt followed her over, abandoning the empty cart, and sat down beside her.

"He directed Romeo & Juliet and The Importance of Being Earnest this summer. Last week, I mean. He—Noah, he ended up playing the lead in both of them when Chris couldn't perform."

"I know." Mrs. Puckerman kept her eyes on the table. "Aaron called me. I couldn't take the time off, but Sarah wanted to go, so I let her."

"Yes, I saw her there with Aaron and Felix."

She nodded, unsurprised. "He didn't say anything about Bryce being sick. God."

"Bryce didn't tell anybody." Kurt watched her anxiously. "I wanted to tell Noah myself, but he won't take my calls."

"No." She tightened the corners of her mouth and glanced up at him. "He's getting his act together. He needs to focus. No distractions."

He sat back. "Does that mean you're not going to tell him about Bryce?"

"No." Now she looked uncertain. "I don't know. I have to finish the grocery shopping." But she didn't stand up.

"I didn't tell Sarah either. You'll have to do that. And I haven't been able to reach Aaron or Felix, so—"

"Kurt." She let out a frustrated sigh. "You'd better come home with me and tell Sarah yourself. Because I honestly don't know if I can do this."

He rose to his feet, and she followed suit. "If—you wouldn't mind? I don't want to cause any problems."

"You're not causing any problems. Noah's doing just fine doing that all on his own." She gave him a head-to-toe once-over. "Whatever happened between you and Noah, I don't know details, but I'm thinking it wasn't your fault."

He didn't know how to respond to that. When she beckoned him to follow her, he went, silently walking beside her as she filled the cart with fresh fruit, pasta, canned tomatoes, bags of shredded cheese, tortillas. They were not the sort of things he would have found in her fridge a year ago, but Kurt decided it would be impolite to point this out.

They reached the checkout line, and he helped her unload the contents of the cart onto the conveyer belt. As he reached for the bag of apples, she put a hand on his, and he looked up, startled.

"How was he?" she asked urgently. "Noah, in Romeo & Juliet?"

Kurt stared into her eyes, green with flecks of brown, exactly like Noah's. "He was phenomenal."

She nodded, returning to silence as she paid for the groceries. Kurt loaded them into the cart, and he went with her to help her put them into her car.

"He used Bryce's old script to prepare for Earnest," he told her. "Noah told me it was Aaron's. But I looked through it. There were notes for two parts. One was Jack Worthing. The other was Cecily."

Mrs. Puckerman blinked rapidly, but did not respond.

"Did… you play Cecily?"

She shook her head. "It was Tanisha."

"Who—?"

"Just come to the house. I have to get these in the fridge."

He followed her in the Navigator, parking on the street while she pulled into the driveway. The yard was much tidier than it had been, and while the house remained two colors, as though it had been half-painted and someone had stopped in the middle, it appeared that someone had repaired the roof.

Sarah came out when her mom gave two short beeps with the horn, but she stopped when she saw Kurt. She looked at her mother in confusion.

"I invited him over," Mrs. Puckerman told Sarah. "Show him where the groceries go. I have to make a phone call."

They each took two bags and Kurt followed Sarah around to the side of the house, holding the screen door for her. He was astonished by the state of the interior. Not only were the walls and floor clean, the previously ubiquitous clutter was almost entirely gone. There were still boxes piled in some spots along the hallway, but they were tucked neatly away, and there was no sign of the dusty piles of old mail or dirty dishes.

Kurt set the bags of groceries on the counter and passed each item to Sarah. She clutched the jug of milk with both hands.

"What's going on?"

"Bryce Coleman died yesterday," he said. "When I told your mom, she invited me back here. Apparently there's stuff I need to know."

"Oh, jeez." Sarah's eyes were big. When her mother came into the kitchen, she went to hug her, and her mom let her. Kurt put away the rest of the groceries.

Mrs. Puckerman wiped her eyes, wearing an angry expression Kurt recognized. Noah gets like that, he thought. Too many feelings.

"Come into the music room," she said.

He followed the two of them to the bedroom across from Noah and Sarah's. The last time he'd been in there, all the instruments were in cases, and most of the room was full of boxes and furniture, but now there was a wide space cleared in the center, with a couch on one end. The television that had been in Noah and Sarah's room was on the other. There was a bass guitar on the couch, and the keyboard had a book of Bon Jovi music propped open to "Livin' on a Prayer."

Kurt touched the keyboard. When he saw Noah's mother watching him, he said the first thing that came to his mind: "It's Noah's favorite song."

She let out a laugh. "Really?"

"That's what he said. I mean—his favorite love song. When I made him pick, he said his favorite song was Marvin Gaye's What's Going On."

"Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. He grew up listening to me and my band playing it." She sounded rueful. "Nice counterpoint to his dad reading him plays every night. You ever heard Noah play piano? He had lessons starting when he was six."

"Uh—no." Kurt glanced at Sarah, who had picked up the bass and was playing some reasonably complex chord changes. "Just the guitar, I think. He did write me a song."

"It was good," Sarah said, when her mom stared at him. "I remember. When your dad was sick."

"Your dad was sick?" Mrs. Puckerman echoed.

"He had a heart attack last year," Kurt said. "He's better now."

She nodded, looking unhappy. "Sounds like I've missed a lot."

She went to the television and turned it on. Then she opened a cabinet along the wall beside the TV, sorting through old VHS cassettes until she found the one she wanted. Sarah and Kurt both sat on the couch.

"I don't know how much longer these tapes are going to play," she said, like a warning. Kurt just nodded.

"What are we watching?"

"This was Bryce's production company, on Long Island. It's not far from Usdan, but he didn't work for them until after he stopped performing."

Kurt watched the grainy video with fascination, centered on the red velvet curtain. The Importance of Being Earnest, the credits read, directed by Bryce Coleman. Aaron Puckerman was listed as playing Jack, and Tanisha Roth as Cecily, but he also spotted the name Felix Abrams, playing the butler Merriman.

"Felix," Kurt said.

"Felix," she repeated softly. "Yeah."

She fast-forwarded through to the second act, in which all three characters performed. Aaron was not precisely the spitting image of Noah, but they did look a lot alike, and Kurt could see in his mannerisms so many of Noah's, it made him a little faint. Felix looked remarkably the same, tall with pale skin and thick black hair. Tanisha's skin was dark, her hair artfully gathered into a period style.

"She's good," said Sarah, watching with interest.

"She really is," agreed her mother. "She quit doing theater after her son was born. His name is Jacob." She turned to Sarah, resting a hand on her skinny knee. "Your half-brother, Jake."

Sarah squinted at the fuzzy analog picture. "That's Jake's mom?"

"Noah said…" Kurt began, then stopped, uncertain if he should say anything about Aaron's affair in front of Sarah. But Mrs. Puckerman was nodding.

"Of course he knew." Noah's mother muted the television and set the remote control on the floor, letting the figures play out the scene in silence. "Not that we talked about it all that much. He was eight, Jake was six, and Sarah less than a year apart, when I left."

"When you left Aaron?"

She indicated the screen. "When I left all of them. I took Noah and Sarah and moved to Lima to live with my mom."

"You, and Aaron," Kurt said slowly, "and… Felix, and Tanisha."

Mrs. Puckerman nodded. She didn't look angry anymore. "They were doing shows at Bryce's theater. I don't even know who paired off first. The three of them were together when I met Felix."

Kurt felt his brain scrambling to keep up with all the connections. "But you weren't performing?"

"Not on the stage. I performed in the pit sometimes, when they needed one of the instruments I played. I was around, because my father and Bryce owned the theater. Bryce was his brother, my uncle."

"Noah's great-uncle," he whispered.

She nodded. "Eventually my father and Bryce sold the theater in New York and split the money. Bryce used his portion to set up a foundation at Usdan to provide opportunities for young performers. My father put his share into the renovation of a beautiful opera house in Dayton, not far from where his wife's family grew up. Well—not far in theory."

"Your father owns the opera house?"

"My father passed away six years ago." Mrs. Puckerman crossed her arms, settling back on the couch, her mouth set in a fierce expression. "I own the opera house."

"But…" Kurt was staring at her outright now. She didn't look at him.

"What, women can't own property?"

"No, no, just—you could have sold it. Noah said you went back to school to become a nurse after your divorce. You worked double shifts the whole time he was growing up. All that overtime, and you could have—"

"Look, I like being a nurse," she announced. "I went back to school for me. And what exactly would Aaron have done if I'd sold it? Or Felix, for that matter? Tanisha's not going to raise Jake on a waitress's salary." Her glare intensified, still trained on the television. "Just because I don't want to be involved with actors anymore doesn't mean I don't want to support the arts. Dayton's a better place because of what my father did for that theater. Felix makes a difference in that community. And Aaron, when he's not fucking up his life with heroin, he does too."

Kurt was speechless. He sat there in silence as Mrs. Puckerman pressed EJECT on the remote control and the VHS tape slid out. She carefully stashed it back in its box and replaced it among the dozens of others.

"Do you…" Kurt waited until she turned back to him. "Do you have any videos of Bryce performing?"

She raised an eyebrow, and sniffed. "Yeah, I have a couple of those. What do you want to see?"

He sat forward, clutching his hands in his lap. "Any chance you have a production of Cyrano?"

The recording was better quality than the home-made video of Earnest had been, a dub of a professionally made film of a stage production, complete with closeups and multiple camera angles. She scanned forward until they got to Cyrano's entrance, then let it play.

"It's the Hooker translation," Sarah said after a few minutes, sounding disappointed. "Noah says the Burgess is way better."

"Lots of people would argue with him," said her mother, "but the Burgess translation wasn't even written until 1971. Bryce performed this a long time before that."

Kurt had watched multiple productions of Cyrano with Noah over the last three years. It was hard to translate the movement and voice of a 40-years-younger Bryce into the person Kurt had worked with less than two weeks ago. As Kurt watched this agile man cover the stage with his fencing foil, he could almost see another actor in performing in his place, as Bryce gave the stage direction: down three… up one… and turn… Kurt, face the audience, we do not need to see your behind.

"Oh," Kurt said, and burst into tears.

Mrs. Puckerman let out an exasperated sigh. Then she gathered him into her arms and held him, not unlike the way his own father had done that morning.

"I'm sorry," he said, but she just held on tighter.

"It's a hell of a loss," she told him fiercely. "You go right ahead and miss him."

Bryce's exalted performance went on in the background while Sarah went to get a box of tissues and a glass of water at her mother's prompting. He sat back, red-faced, as she handed him the box.

"Thank you, Mrs. Puckerman," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "How about you call me Ruth, all right?"

They didn't watch the whole video. Ruth received a phone call and excused herself, and Sarah and Kurt turned off the television and put away the cassette. Then Sarah took him into the kitchen to show him the new countertop, while he marveled again at the changes in the house.

His eye was caught by an old note on the fridge. Pillsburying, Thursday, May 17, 2pm. It wasn't a word he knew, but it was similar enough to bunburying that he had to wonder.

Ruth passed him in the hallway, fixing her hair with one hand while she pulled on her jacket. She was clearly distracted, but the smile she gave him was real.

"Come by again," she said. "Just drop in. It doesn't matter if Noah's here or not. We'll watch more of Bryce's back catalog."

Kurt smiled back. "I'd like that."