Page 8 of Such Sharp Teeth

“I thought of you last night,” I say, watching the parking lot. A titanic SUV attempts to back into a space that is for sure too small. “About how I was relieved we don’t have that twin thing. Where we can feel what the other feels.”

“Yeah, I slept through the whole thing,” she says. “I used to be a night owl. Lately I can barely make it past midnight.”

“Midnight is late.”

“No, it isn’t,” she says.

I can tell she doesn’t want to talk about what happened last night, which is a relief, because I don’t feel like talking about it either. I don’t want to think about it. What I want is to enjoy my chai latte without reliving my suffering. To sit in this suburban parking lot on this overcast day with my sister and just be.

“You know who I ran into last night?” I ask.

She looks at me. “If you say a bear . . .”

“No, no,” I say. “Ian Pedretti.”

I get an instant grin.

“Ian Pedretti,” she singsongs. “He was so in love with you.”

“I know.”

“I see him around all the time. He filled out. He was so gangly in high school.”

“Yep.”

“What did you guys talk about?” She rests both elbows on the table and bats her lashes at me.

“Politics,” I deadpan.

“Hey,” she says. “Please?”

“I don’t know. Just caught up. Nothing earth-shattering,” I say, hiding my face behind my cup. “I had every intention of enjoying a beer by myself, Scout’s honor. He just happened to be there.”

“You’re squirming,” she says.

“I’m not. I’m holding perfectly still.”

The SUV has indeed successfully backed into that space. I crane my neck to behold its wizard driver.

“How’d you leave things?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you going to see him again?”

I shrug, and it’s that writhing pain. It hasn’t gone away, but it had dulled to the point I could ignore it. Until now.

“What?” Scarlett asks.

“Nothing.”

“Are you faking pain to get out of this conversation?”

“I wish.”

“You want to go home?”

“No,” I say. “I’m fine.”