“You did. In your email.” And then with his eyes on me, without having to pause or think twice, he recites, “From the bottom of my heart, I really hope your comb breaks and you run out of whatever expensive hair products you’ve been using to make your hair appear deceptively soft when I’m sure it’s not, because there’s nothing soft about you, anywhere at all.” They’re my words, but on his lips they sound different. Intimate. Confessional. “How do you . . . remember all that?” I ask. “I have all your emails memorized word for word,” he says, then instantly looks like he regrets having spoken.
