I’ve known it since I almost ran her over in the car. Since I first watched her swim, since I found out she must be the only person under the age of fifty to wear mittens, since I found out she does puzzles to escape the gray cloud of her own, since I watched her close and reopen the lid of her laptop to try to fix every IT issue under the sun. Since I heard her in her room, laughing and sobbing at a movie in the same thirty-minute period. I could go on forever. I’m obsessed with her. Desperate for her. But I could never be good for her, and for reasons she doesn’t make clear, she doesn’t want
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