“Was he going to ask me to go with him? Maybe I was getting ahead of myself and he was just making conversation. Oh, why was talking to a boy so fraught with complication?”

“I have no idea what he wants. Maybe he needs to remind you to pack your skimpiest swimsuit.” He paused. “Oh, wait, no. That’s me.” He grinned as I rolled my eyes. “Why do I even try to have normal conversations with you?” I asked him. “Because you like talking to me.”

“I said, I know why you’re afraid to fight with me.”"And why is that?” If he flexed again, I’d have to implement emergency measures. Maybe I could kick some sand at him or something. Hard to look hot brushing sand out of your eyes."You want me.”Oh boy."You can’t resist my subtle charm, so you’re afraid you’re going to make a spectacle out of yourself.”"You know what? Don’t talk to me.”

“I clear my throat, realizing how little I’ve accomplished during this conversation. “So, everything with you is great?” I say in a final attempt to get some scoop. “No problems? No demons in your closet? Nothing weird going on?”“What’s up with you?” he asks, double-dipping a fry. “You were like this on the phone the other day, too.”“Just making conversation.”“Psycho conversation, maybe.”“Speaking of psychos,” I half joke. “Anyone in your life I should know about?”“Just one,” he says, giving me a pointed look.”

“When I'm with him, I can feel myself getting better. It's like he's picking up broken pieces of me and putting me back together, and I don't even know he's doing it. We never talk about it. We don't go to therapy. He just loves me and that's enough.”

“I could have told, just looking at him, that that was the tone he would use asking a question. A tone that took it for granted any question he asked was going to be answered because he asked it. I don't like it and I know of no way anybody is ever going to make me like it.”