“Come home with me. We can have a late dinner.” “Why?” “Because I enjoy talking to you,” I reply as he begins walking toward the gate, his dogs on the leash. He offers a huff in response. “What? I do. Is that so hard to believe?” “Yes.” “East,” I say, and he stops walking. I’m behind him, his back to me. “I don’t know what you’re doing,” he finally says. “Being your friend.”
