What jolts me out of her voice is Will’s hand next to me, the side of his pinkie pressing into mine. I know then and there that everything has been intentional. He doesn’t look over at me, or at our hands, just stares at Erica as if mesmerized. I, too, don’t look up, but I exert the smallest bit of pressure to his hand and then, as if he’s teetering on some edge and needs to hold me still lest I push him off it, his pinkie is on top of mine, covering half of my nail, pressing my finger down harder into my thigh.
The tension
