hard enough to leave impressions in the paper. At twenty-two, I had apparently believed emotional experiences benefited from enforceable procedures.
Then I noticed her notes.
Beside the bus ride: both of us.
Beside the northern lights: both of us.
Beside an entry about finding somewhere neither of us had been: the same two words.
Near the bottom, a deliberate fold concealed the last line.
I started opening it.
Elise put her thumb on the crease.
“Later.”
The word was quiet enough to stop me more effectively than a joke.
She
