“I have something for you. And I have something to tell you…Jennifer.”
She looked at me only slightly surprised. I had been unable to find the right moment to tell her I knew her real identity until then. I told her about Barbie and my adventurous night months ago. She laughed at my story—she always laughed at my stories, and didn’t seem bothered by the fact I called her by name. It seemed appropriate since we were sitting in my house and we’d known each other for about eight months.
I gave her the letter I’d written the night before and there was no conversation about it—my writing her letters was not new, but I had cut back severely on the frequency with which I did. She slipped the letter into her sweatshirt pocket and promised to read it later. Then she was saying goodbye and I was w
