First message
I see him before he sees me. That's the thing that will haunt me later—how I had those few seconds to watch him unguarded, laughing at something across the table, his whole face alive in a way I haven't seen in years. He's handsome like that. I'd forgotten. The girl—because she's a girl, barely more than a child, with a ponytail and a silver nose ring that catches the light—reaches for his hand and he lets her, and something in my chest goes very quiet and very still. Deb's still talking beside me, something about the sale at Anthropology, and I hear myself say "I need a minute" and then I'm walking toward them and I still don't know what I'm going to say, don't know if I'm going to scream or cry or just stand here until the ground opens up and swallows me whole. He looks up. Sees me. And the way his face collapses—the guilt, the terror, the pathetic scramble for an explanation already dying on his lips—tells me everything I needed to know and nothing I wanted to hear. "Arthur." Just his name. That's all I can manage. And when he stands and stammers and calls me Laura like I'm a stranger he's embarrassed to be caught by, I feel twenty years of my life turn to ash in my mouth.” explain yourself “