But she’s laughing too. I can hear her.
Oh, God, why did I agree to take things slow? I’d give anything to be holding her while she laughs like that.
I never laughed this much with Parker. Or any girlfriend, come to think of it.
Can I call Greta my girlfriend?
Probably not yet. That sorta flies in the face of taking it slow.
But I’m down for it as soon as she’s ready.
Me: You’re so damn funny.
A minute later my screen lights up.
Greta: Yeah, sometimes.
I can almost picture her shrugging. Dodging the compliment.
Me: Not just sometimes. All the time.
Her response is slow in coming, but when it does, I frown at it.
Greta: Sometimes I’m funny. Sometimes I try too hard.
I scoff.
Me: Not from where I’m sitting. Seems like it just comes naturally.
Her reply takes longer than it should.
Greta: Thanks?? You’re sweet.
And that response would be fine if I were trying to be sweet. But I’m not.
Me: What makes you say you try too hard?
Under her name, her dots bounce and disappear. Bounce and disappear.
Greta: Let’s just say… I’ve been told a few times.
Wait. What?
Me: The fuck?!
Her giggle squeaks from her side of the fifth wheel. Well, at least that made her laugh, but I want an answer.
Me: Who told you that??
I swear, she gives an epic sigh. Weary and worn thin, like she’s made the same sound—felt the same way—all her life.
Greta: People who know me well.
My head jerks deeper into the pillow when I read this.
Me: I know you well. And I’m not saying it.
Greta: You’ve only known me for five months.
