“I love you.”
“What?” Desiree can’t hear out of her right ear, so I often have to repeat myself.
“I love you!”
She frowns. “Love will tear us apart.”
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s like that Meat Loaf song—sooner or later you’ll be screwing around.”
“I won’t do that.”
“What?”
“No! I won’t do that!”
Desiree sighs and picks at her fuchsia stockings. Since she lost her hearing, she has dressed in bold, bright colors, perhaps hoping that the louder she dresses, the better she’ll hear. I grab the end of her teal scarf, which has rolled out across the table.
“I have to go,” she says and begins winding the scarf around her neck. She looks at me, and I drop the scarf. After she is gone, I can still see her, burned into the back of my eyelids. I stand and follow her fuchsia-teal trail out the door.
