19
Anna
By the time Zoe arrives, I have a good idea of what I want to say to her, but no clue, as always, where to find the words. The very prospect of having sentence after sentence of what I’m trying to articulate coming out all garbled and not making sense has prompted me to reach for my phone multiple times and call Bookends to cancel tonight.
Something stopped me, however. The thought of Zoe in my house again, I presume. It can really only be that. When she rings the bell and stands in my doorway in all her glory—all dolled up and overdressed again—I know for certain that, despite my nerves, and despite only seeing her a few hours ago, I’ve been dying to feast my eyes on her again.
We settle in the living room and I see how her gaze is drawn to a small painting of the shelf agains
