“All right,” I say. “Tell me.” Grace just stares at me. And suddenly I know what she wants to tell me. That it was fine for me to be a little better. Nice, in fact. Less of a strain on her, on us. For a moment there, she even saw the possibility of rekindling things. But now? Now Grace looks at me beaming as I stand before her on my high, high heels and she’s at a loss. I’m no longer a faded Snow White lying on her living room floor, complaining with her about the English department, drunkenly reminiscing about my days in the sun. Who are you? her face says. Who are you and what have you done
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