Knox
I listen, gobsmacked, as Sylvie breaks out a voice I’ve never once heard her use in the last week to casually make lunch plans, fifteen seconds after my kissing her, with her mom.
She hangs up. “I guess you get to meet her. Apologies in advance.”
“This a joke?” I ask. The blood is running hot to my face. I want to die for misreading the moment.
“No, you definitely get to meet my mom at Quinoa’s, Springfield’s finest vegetarian bistro.”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“I can’t possibly seem like I’m joking right now.”
“You don’t, but I think I just heard you say that you went to a funeral for your ex-boyfriend, whom you killed, so I wanted to make sure.”
Sylvie won’t meet my eyes. “Yeah.” Her voice sounds like it’s coming from the bottom of a well.
“Yeah?”
“That’s what happened.”
“Do you want to elaborate?”
“Not especially.”
“I get that, based on the very little information I currently have, I really do get that, but you maybe think that’s a pretty huge thing to just toss out there for me to chew on like a dog toy?”
“Probably.” She sighs. She starts to speak, but doesn’t.
“Look, I don’t want to make you relive some clearly painful experience, but also?
I just kissed you. And instead of hearing ‘hey, I liked that,’ or even ‘hey, slow your roll,’ I got door number three, which was ‘I killed the last guy who did that and I’m apparently still mourning him.
’ So I don’t know what I’m asking of you.
I’m just . . . really confused right now and I feel like I just broke something. ”
“You didn’t.”
I slump in my seat and groan and clutch the sides of my head.
“You didn’t,” Sylvie repeats.
“Okay, great, I believe you, but like . . . I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be.”
“I’m not feeling like I misread this moment, I feel like I misread us. Our whole deal. This journey.”
“You’re acting like you hate me now.”
“As you’ll recall, the last thing I said before kissing you was that I could never hate you. That wasn’t just something I said to seal the deal. I meant it.” Winslow looks at me with his brown, soft eyes, almost as if to say, Sorry, buddy. Try licking her hand next time. Always works for me.
Sylvie starts the van.