I’m not sure why I ask. I’m not sure I even want to know, and yet I’m curious. Curious to see how many important moments of her life she shared with him. Curious also why the thought of that makes me sneeringly jealous.
“Yeah, he was,” she says. “It was during one of the good times.”
She stops there. I decide not to pry. Her eyes slide to the dirty towelette in my hands. The red blood stains feel jarring all of a sudden.
“I’m okay,” she breathes, but it sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more than me.
“I know you are,” I say. “The same principle applies here as it did there, June.”
She frowns. “What principle is that?”
“Just dance through the pain.”
I can see her processing that. Her shoulders seem to gain strength as we sit there in the silence.
“Where’s Geneva?” she ask
