"Aren't you going to ask me how my afternoon was?" she asked me. The question came with a guilty smile.
We were sitting at the dinner table, each of us picking over our mushroom risottos.
"No. You'll tell me when you want to," I replied.
I didn't look up. I didn't want to see her expression. I didn't want to see another lie on her face. I knew her eyes would contradict whatever words came from her mouth.
I knew where she'd been that afternoon; I could already guess how it really was.
And now, she knew that I knew.
We were sitting at the dinner table, each of us picking over our mushroom risottos.
"No. You'll tell me when you want to," I replied.
I didn't look up. I didn't want to see her expression. I didn't want to see another lie on her face. I knew her eyes would contradict whatever words came from her mouth.
I knew where she'd been that afternoon; I could already guess how it really was.
And now, she knew that I knew.
