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First published March 24, 2014
“I like laying here with you,” he said.
“I like lying here with you, too.”
“That’s not right, huh? It’s not laying?”
“No,” she said, embarrassed.
“I can always count on you to know which is which, but that’s weird. Lying. I don’t like how lie has the two meanings. I don’t want to lie here with you. Been enough lying already. Why does it mean two different things?”
“I don’t know.”
“If it’s okay, I’m just gonna keep saying lay. I like laying here with you,” he said.
“I like laying here with you, too.”
Jennifer would have walked more quickly if she hadn’t been wearing new shoes, but she couldn’t stop glancing down to admire the way the slender black t-strap bisected her foot. They were easily the most elegant shoes she had ever owned.
Tracey offered a bottle of pills and Jennifer swallowed one, not knowing what it was. After that, she floated in a haze, numb. It was not the numbness of childhood illness, where familiar hands take on the task you cannot do. It was like the well-meaning but alien care people offer an injured or abandoned baby animal. How you scoop and coddle a tiny rabbit, cupped in your hands.
The rabbit is not comforted—you’re a giant monster booming, “Aw, look at his little earsies,” with none of the familiar shapes and smells of its mother. Even so, the baby rabbit is relieved to be dry, to be fed, to be unharmed.
Marco’s words gnawed at her. The least I can do. That was what Jennifer had done. The very bare minimum. The inside of her head felt like a mouth full of sore and loose teeth. No matter where her thoughts wandered, they landed on something painful.
... she pulled bottle after bottle of polish out of her drawer, and set them on the vanity. The glass bottles clinked together musically, a sound that had always cheered Olivia up. Now it teased her as she tried to decide on a color. What was the color of betrayal? What color was The Truth? After all the bottles were lined up before her, she could see that whatever the color was, she didn’t own a bottle of it.