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Julie: Was that hard to say?
Imogen: Yes.
Julie: Sexist!
Imogen: I know. Women are as bad as men sometimes, but not there.
Julie: How would you know?
Imogen: I know men.
My phone buzzes with another text.
Patrick.
Patrick: I've been listening to Fiona Apple all morning.
Imogen: This is dirty talk.
Patrick: Call me and we'll keep talking.
ChapterThirty-Five
PATRICK
Imogen texts back right away.
Imogen: I'm on with my sister.
Patrick: And?
Imogen: I have homework.
Patrick: And?
Imogen: You'll enjoy waiting more than I will. Are you home?
Patrick: I have a few hours of work here. After that, I won't sit around waiting.
Imogen: Good. I'd rather catch you when you're in public.
She's good at this. Too good at this.
Imogen: Soon. I promise.
Soon is too far from now. Not because I need to see her, though I do. Not because I want to hear her groan in my ear, though I do.
Because soon leaves time for my thoughts to return, for me to ask myself how long I can keep this to myself.
I need to tell her eventually. But not today, not on the phone, not until I find a way to explain myself.
I can take a few days.
That's reasonable.
I try to clear my head with a sketch session. Then a workout at the fancy gym in Marina Del Rey (they transferred Deidre's membership to me and she'd prepaid for years). A shower. Dinner.
Imogen sends a picture with a note.
