12
Zoe
“How was your date?” Brooklyn asks as soon as I arrive home.
“Trust me when I tell you that was not a date.” I sink into the nearest chair. I’m not sure why I feel so deflated. I’m puzzled more than anything. While I finished my glass of wine, Anna’s half-empty beer glass standing in front me as a glaring reminder of her abrupt departure, I tried to figure out what made Anna up and leave like that. One minute, we were having a pleasant conversation; the next, she just left.
It can only have been my tactile nature. I’m a hugger. I’m always touching other people, putting a hand on someone’s arm, literally patting them on the back. Clearly, Anna is the opposite. But still. We’re both adults. She could have just said something. Or just pulled her hand away, as she did, and make it c
