“Did you speak to my therapist?”
“No. I have basic pattern recognition.”
Lola called from the kitchen, “Amy’s picture is still here.”
The diner photograph. Printed. Private. The sight caught beneath my ribs.
“Yes,” I called.
“Are you still girlfriends?”
Gloria waited. I answered carefully.
“We are taking space.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we care about each other and are not spending time together right now.”
“Did you break up?”
“I don’t know.”
“Adults are confusing.”
“Correct.”
She returned to the drawings. Gloria lowered her voice.
“Have you contacted Amy?”
“No.”
“Good.”
The approval hurt.
“I’m respecting what she asked.”
“Also good.”
“I want to tell her about the race decision.”
“When you have one.”
“Yes.”
“Not to influence hers.”
“No.”
Gloria studied me.
“You love her.”
“Yes.”
The yes came without fear now.
