WEST:The ink stain earns it.
ME:That's what I keep telling people.
WEST:I've been thinking about you.
WEST:Specifically about what you looked like on your knees in the casita.
The ink stain becomes irrelevant.
The build takes two days.
I tease. Retreat, Tease harder—a rhythm I'm discovering I have a natural talent for, which is both thrilling and mildly concerning.
He responds with something that makes my face go hot.
I send something back that makes him go quiet for three full minutes.
Three minutes. I count.
WEST:You can't just say that.
ME:I just did.
WEST:Jane.
ME:West.
WEST:Zoom. Tonight. Eight.
ME:Why?
WEST:Because I want to see your face when you say that.
Oh. OH.
This is fine.
I'm fine. I've done things with this man. Extensive things. Detailed things. I have no reason to be nervous about a Zoom call.
None whatsoever.
Grace will be at a study group. She announces this during dinner with the complete obliviousness of someone facilitating a situation she has no idea exists.
"Back by eleven probably," she says, grabbing her bag.
"Great. Good. Study hard."
She pauses at the door. Squints at me. "You're being weird."
"I'm always weird."
"Weirder than baseline."
"Go learn things, Grace."
She leaves. I sit in the apartment. Pick up my phone. Put it down. Pick it back up.
He started this. This is a completely proportionate response.
