There’s a girl nearly half my age standing in my kitchen with puffy red eyes. It looks like she’s either going to try and swing at me, or crumple like a tissue. “I just need to arrange a tow truck. Please.” She won’t fucking sit down, even though I’ve offered her a stool at the kitchen island several times. Letting out a heavy sigh, I rest both hands on the countertop. Trying to keep my eyes on her face. Trying not to think about the fact the girl from the gas station is here. She’s here and standing in my kitchen.
