A white figure runs from the marsh, across the road, and up the hill into the woods.
"Oh, my God, that was so awkward!" she exclaims in a low voice, gripping my arm. "I mean, really, WHY?"
Well, you don't answer your phone.
"I wouldn't tell you this if I didn't give a shit!" he shouts.
The flowers, petite and pink, stand brilliantly against the green. How had I failed to notice all of these years?
"It's not that exciting." Then she leans back in the booth and considers. "Well. Sometimes."
"You can't not say it back. That's just the end of the relationship right there!" He doesn't see "You have nice teeth" as an acceptable response to "I love you."
I want to listen, but I close my door instead.
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