He laughs. He has a nice laugh. It’s not thin, not mocking or biting or wry. It’s a full laugh. A free laugh. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll be able to pay our bills just fine.” My stomach does a weird loop de loop. “I’m high maintenance. You can’t afford me.” “You’ve had the same pair of boots since eleventh grade.” How does he know that? “They are very durable boots.” I wish I was wearing them now. Despite feeling no pain, these high heels still pinch like hell.
