“She is.”
David cried then.
Not dramatically.
Quietly.
Like a father whose daughter had become frightened of being expensive.
That afternoon, Lily came to my house.
She was wearing Ethan’s wig.
It looked beautiful.
Not because it was perfect.
Because Ethan’s hair had always curled slightly near the ends, and somehow the wig maker had preserved that.
Lily stood in our kitchen and looked at him.
“You idiot.”
Ethan smiled nervously.
“Hi.”
“You sold your computer?”
He looked at me.
Traitor.
Then back to her.
“Maybe.”
She started crying.
“Stop