She looks away first.
Of course she does.
Eyes dropping to the counter, to the glass, to anything that isn’t me.
“I…” she starts.
Stops.
Tries again.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
There it is.
Not a no.
But not a yes either.
Something in between.
I study her for a long second.
Then nod once.
“Alright.”
She looks up quickly.
Surprised.
“That’s it?”
“What do you want me to do?” I ask, genuinely. “Repeat myself?”
“No, I just—”
“You heard me.”
I’m not angry.
Not even frustrated.
Because I said what I needed to say.
Now it’s on her.
“That’s not fair,” she mutters.
I almost laugh.
“Fair?”
“Yeah,” she says, pushing off the counter. “You don’t just drop something like that and expect me to—”
“I didn’t drop anything,” I cut in. “I’ve been here.”
That lands.
H
