We start walking again. The sidewalk is quieter now, fewer people. The streetlights throw long shadows and our footsteps fall into an easy rhythm.
"I like seeing you like this," I say.
"Like what?"
"Smiling. Enjoying yourself."
She glances at me. "I smile."
"Not like that."
We walk another half-block. A cab speeds past, horn blaring at a pedestrian in the crosswalk.
"I liked seeing you with the Boss Babes," I say. "Although I'm not sure I can ever get used to saying those two words."
Sam laughs again. "You'll survive."
The silence is comfortable.
"So," Sam says. "Verdict?"
"On the Boss Babes?"
"Yeah."
"They weren't as terrifying as I feared. Direct, though."
She smiles. "That's one word for it."
I look at her. The streetlight catches her profile. "They're good for you."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. You seem more comfortable in your skin around them."
Sam doesn't answer immediately. We cross another street, wait for the light, keep walking.
"They liked you," she says finally.
"How do you know?"
"They stopped interrogating you and started embarrassing me. It's their way of saying, 'She might have some funny quirks, but we love her just the same.'"
I grin. "So they want me to appreciate all your quirks?"
She smacks my arm. "You're impossible."
"What? That's not what they meant?"
"No. They're trying to tell you to put up with me despite all my quirks."
I stop walking. Sam takes two more steps before realizing and turning back.
"Who says I feel like I have to put up with them?" I say. "Besides, you're stuck with me. I'm already invested."
She stares at me. Not sure if I'm joking. Not sure if I know I'm not joking.
Then she shakes her head, smiling. "That eight-hundred-dollar joke is going to haunt me forever, isn't it?"
