when I get to Vanessa’s door, it swings open before I can knock, putting Vanessa directly in front of me. “Oh,” she says, and that tell-tale red flush is already climbing up her neck. “Vanessa—” It’s on my tongue to tell her all that I’ve been thinking, the monologue I planned, but when I start to speak, what comes out of my mouth is: “I don’t want you to marry that guy.”
