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I know that she takes quick showers, except on Sundays, where she’s in the bathroom for at least an hour, and when she comes out she’s all pink and wrinkled like a prune, but she looks so relaxed that I never call her out on it

I know that when she eats, she has to get a bit of everything onto her fork, whichher food up in ht into every h she’s a hell of a messy eater

I know that despite her fascination with the dark—be that the occult, witches, ghosts, vampires—she can’t handle scary movies and she’ll leave the room, or the theater, after the first jump scare

I know that she puts on ‘90s R&B when she gets dressed in the h she’ll lie if you call her on it and say it’s Mastodon or so

I know that beneath her ballsy, strong exterior, there’s a little girl inside that’s stillfor the dad that left her, and that her loss has come to define the way she sees love and relationships, and that hasto do with me

At least, I think I know that last part

For as much as I know about her, there’s still a lot that I don’t

“Want to go for a walk?” I ask

Ahtbreakfast of bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns (my stomach could only handle the bacon), we pulled the Adirondack chairs out of storage and hauled the the cliff We’ve been sitting here, her with a hangover drink,the ht behind the marine layer that sits above the ocean I like the way it dulls the light here, tones it down to my mood

“A walk?” she repeats dryly

“Might be good to move,” I tell her

“You bored?” she asks

“I don’t get bored”

“Oh, of course,” she says with a roll of her eyes, shoving her black hair behind her ear, her row of skull earrings sparkling in the dull light “Because vaet bored”

I can’t help the set bored I’et bored”