“You don’t remember?” She felt her chest collapse. She stared at him. “I almost trampled you coming out of the practice room one day. You asked me what I was playing, and I told you to fuck off.” She gasped. “You did not. I would have remembered that!” “It was something like that.” He pulled up to his elbows. “You were, like, ten or eleven.” He smiled down at her. “I realized during the New York Times interview that you were Mabel’s brat.”
