her . . .
“Why? Because she’s your girl? I was your girl too. You didn’t give a damn. Why don’t you run along? This conversation is for big people, not little girls.”
“What is your problem?”
“My problem is that this mousy little bitch is the reason you left me.”
“The reason we didn’t work is you didn’t trust me not to do anything.” she recoiled. “This has nothing to do with Brittany.”
Her eyes went wide. She was hurt. We watched her turn and walk away until she and her friends were out of sight.
He turned to me and said, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” My voice was shaky. “Let’s go shopping.”
He wasn’t convinced but he led me away. We made our selections without trying them on, as though we understood each other’s need to get out of there.
The drive home was quiet. We barely said anything to each other as we listened to the radio playing softly.
“Do I know her?”
He looked at me then turned back to the road. “Who?”
“The girl you were talking about. Do I know her?”
“Yeah.”
“Does she go to school with us?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s she like?”
“Why so curious?”
“Just wondering.”
“She’s . . . God! She’s beautiful! Kind of tall, thin, long hair, and her eyes! I love her eyes!”
“She sounds great…” It felt like razors on my tongue as I said it.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, just tired. Is she going to be at the party?”
“I’m not sure, yet.” He wouldn’t look at me.
“Do you want her to be there?”
He hesitated. “Yes.”
“So why do you want me there?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I think I can keep up.”
He was quiet until we reached my house. “I’ll tell you later. I promise.”