I told Talia on Saturday morning.
Not in person, which was how we had most of our significant conversations, but over the phone because I woke up needing to say it out loud to someone and Talia was the someone, and waiting until I could get across the city felt like trying to contain something that had already decided not to be contained.
She answered on the third ring with the voice of a person who had been awake for a while and was on her second coffee and had the particular alertness of a journalist whose instincts don't fully disengage even on weekends.
"Tell me," she said. Before I had said anything. Which was Talia.
"He kissed me," I said. "In the back of the car. Last night, after the paparazzi situation."
A silence. Long enough to be significant.
"Aria."
"I know."
"Tell me
