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“Eli Killgore,” she read. “This is not a reassuring name, Eli.”
“You have a library card.” She sounded bemused, and he clucked his tongue. “Here I am, trying to help you out in a difficult situation, and you repay me by being surprised that I can read.”
He nodded, and I nodded, a tacit agreement that we were both terrible people. Telling terrible stories. We’d let our masks slip enough times that they now lay shattered on the floor, but it was okay. We were okay.
It’s because with you I never have to worry about being too odd, too unlikable, too out of tune. You never make me feel anything other than just right.
