Kathleen (Or, How My Ex’s Ex Saved My Life)
“I don’t think you’ll like each other,” he starts. “In fact, I’m sure you won’t.”
You’re both naked in bed, bodies cooling, when you reply, “You can’t know that.”
He laughs like he has all the answers, and you believe that maybe he does. “If you’re that worried about it I’ll introduce you.”
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“You’ve been sinking for weeks.”
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You meet on the street. She’s fresh off the train from Newcastle, and you have to tip your head to look up at her. She has a round face and bright green eyes, arms and legs long and lean. The kind of pretty that would make you look twice, the kind of pretty worth writing home about. They would have looked beautiful together. You run your mind over the image, like tongue over teeth, tasting the thought and learning the shape of it. It doesn’t inspire envy. Jealousy doesn’t curdle in your gut. He has good taste.
“Hi, I’ve heard so much about you! I’m Kathleen,” she says easily, falling into step next to you.
She may be inches taller, but she’s slower, unused to your pace. It’s charming. You hadn’t expected to like her so immediately, but there’s something about her that is both brittle and warm, fragile yet firm. The kind of girl that could withstand the forest fire of…
