Amatoria Nervosa

After Max’s we drive around in my car. I like to drive, and she likes the idea of going nowhere. She is the best in the world at just looking out the window. That’s all our first date was—we had coffee and got in the car and just went. We were good at going and talking and not needing to be anywhere. But eventually, everyone needs to stop.

“Let’s go to your house. My parents get home from visiting Granam tonight,” she says.

“How is Grandma?”

Granam,” she corrects me, “and I think she should be dead soon. When do your parents come back from France?”

“Who knows,” I say, running a yellow-red light, which distracts me from knowing whether Granam’s imminent death is a big problem for her.

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