She put her forehead to Isabel’s chin. “And what if that’s you?” she said. “The thing that hurts? What if—it’s who you are? What if it’s where you come from and—” Isabel turned her face down: to be closer. To feel the words with the heat of her mouth. Eva whispered, “What will you do then?” Isabel’s hands under the wings of Eva’s shoulders. She could not answer. She could touch: Eva’s back, her face, the bruised skin under her eye. Eva leaned into it, leaned into her, and then went from her. Turned her back and stepped away—a hand to the table. The space was so small and they were still in
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