“Yes,” I said to Abi, ignoring Roman and wondering how it was that we were yelling at each other when I was trying to convince her I was in love with her. “I liked that version of you, but that’s not who I’m in love with. I’m in love with the girl who buys stupid T-shirts because they’re a good deal, whose hair sticks straight up in the morning when she runs around in pajamas with her own face on them, and the idiot who risks her fucking life to run in a 5K because she made a commitment.”
