Me: If he’s six-seven and suffering heroically, be kind to him.
Lucy: Like I was kind to you.
Me: No, your brand of sweetness is saved for me. You can be respectfully kind, in a distant kind of way.
The three little dots appear, then disappear. They appear again, then vanish. I wait, thumb resting against the side of the phone,and I don’t send anything else because I can feel her thinking through the screen.
Lucy: I was just doing my job.
I frown.
Me: Getting me checked in was your job. Being kind like that was all you.
She doesn’t answer right away. I wonder if I said too much. Maybe that was too heavy for a first conversation. I start typing something dumb to soften it, but then her reply comes through.
Lucy: ?? Sorry.
She doesn’t say it like someone who hears compliments often. She says it like she doesn’t know what to do with one.
Lucy said yes carefully. I know that without anyone telling me. She apologizes even when she hasn’t done anything wrong. She helped me like I mattered, then looked surprised when I thanked her for it.
I lean back against the couch and rub one hand over my jaw. I don’t know much about Lucy Parker yet, but I know she’s soft-spoken and sweet, and there’s something careful around her edges that makes me want to pay attention instead of barrel straight through her defenses.
Lucy: Are you feeling any better?
Me: Some. I still look terrible, but I’m told my personality makes up for it.
Lucy: Who told you that?
Me: Nobody reliable.
Lucy: ?? Tessa?
Me: Definitely not Tessa. She told me I look like ??
Lucy: That’s not very nice.
Me: Accurate though.
Lucy: I didn’t think you look like shit.
I sit there staring at that sentence, and I know I should not read too much into it. I read too much into it anyway.
Me: What did you think I looked like?
The dots appear. Disappear. Appear. This time the pause stretches long enough that I almost regret asking.
Lucy: Sick.
I bark out a laugh.
Me: Brutal.
Lucy: ?? Sorry.
Me: Don’t apologize. I walked into that one.
Lucy: You did.
